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There is something terribly wrong with Edgar Allan Poe.
Being unable to string together a simple sentence is amongst the worst feelings that he has experienced as of late. Forget complex ideas such as plot or character development, and mysteries are out of the question. The toll that his mind has gone through lately with creating endless stories for Ranpo’s entertainment and enrichment has unfortunately worn on him.
(This is not to say, however, that Poe has issue with this back and forth. Ranpo has been a muse; it’s just that the artist has been drained dry.)
He is overwhelmingly aware that others have had it worse; he knows, for instance, that Ranpo has had to deal with some terribly troubling cases just last week.
This statement, however, is selfishly only about
Poe.
His eyes glaze over the last two sentences he’s written. Again and again, he ponders them – tries to find the gap between what is on the page and what’s in his imagination, what must be formed for his latest novel – and comes up with nothing. Carl, of course, just sleeps in blissful ignorance atop the desk. His expertise has likewise been exhausted over the course of these last few days, and what genius he could provide to the situation sleeps with him.
In other words, Poe is in a bit of a bind.
His hands rake through his thick brown hair and he scrubs at his scalp, as if willing a single coherent thought to come out between the follicles and make itself known. A sound of irritation and frustration escapes through his teeth and he’s nearly about to slam his head repeatedly into the oak table when Ranpo puts his arms around his shoulders.
“Whatcha workin’ on, Poe?”
Poe’s eyes close as Ranpo puts his chin to rest on Poe’s head. He uses him much like a lounge chair, and with about the same level of respect. He drapes himself over Poe’s tense body, his torso heavy and lazy as it threatens to slip onto the floor into a puddle. Poe is something solid, and Ranpo is something like air; Poe could use that, could write that down and hold it in his hands if he were a poet.
But no. Poe is – allegedly – a novelist.
“Ah! Ranpo,” he says, as if Ranpo’s presence isn’t welcome – as if his attention isn’t one of the few that Poe can stand. Ranpo lets him get flustered, lets his shoulders shift up to around his ears. He lets Poe go through the anxious motions he always needs to cycle through in order to feel sane – and Poe relaxes because of it. “That’s precisely the issue, I can’t seem to get any writing out.”
“Ah,” Ranpo responds with a hum, and as Poe tilts his head up to look at him he feels the stick of a lollipop jab him in the forehead. Ranpo’s eyes are closed, his lips in a pout, and there’s a certain something to the way his brow creases that means he’s thinking about something important. “You’ve got a classic case. Lucky for you, I’ve got a cure for you!”
“A classic case…?”
“Yeah,” Ranpo’s voice turns serious. “You’ve got writer’s block.”
The diagnosis is brutal and devastating. Poe’s shoulders slump a little as his brown hair brushes against the bridge of his nose; this is a terrible affliction for a rival of Ranpo’s to endure, and yet here he is – staring down at blank paper with uninspired words staring back up at him.
“Ah. I see,” he says, because Ranpo – as he usually is – is correct. His body threatens to tilt forward in an act of defeat before Ranpo grabs him by the collar and pulls him back.
“There’s a cure for it, though!” he declares, and Poe’s world stops shifting into morbid grayscale. It’s impressive how Ranpo is able to turn his world from monochrome back to color with only a hopeful lilt to his voice. He turns in his chair, knocks his knees against the armrests, and looks at him. Ranpo leans over the desk and picks up the paper, balls it up, and tosses it into the garbage. “We’ve got to get your creative juices flowing. That’s all.”
“How do you suggest we do that, Ranpo?” Usually, Poe’s process is extremely straightforward and easy to understand: a plotter by nature, inspired by dreams and the world around him, and fired up by a desire to provide an adequate mystery to his one and only rival. If Poe cannot perform this, would that mean another might take his place?
The idea makes him feel ill. His usual process has exhausted its usage for the moment, and there is nothing to lose by taking another approach. He inhales through his nose and out through his mouth before he nods. “Tell me your idea.”
“Roleplay,” Ranpo says, and fishes out a bag of snacks from his pocket. He offers one to Poe and he knows that this is a way to pique his interest – having a snack from Ranpo’s personal stash is not something to be taken lightly, and often means more than simple sharing between friends. An honor, of sorts, which makes Poe consider with more seriousness what Ranpo could be up to. “You know? I’ll play the old detective, you will be my junior. You tell me your idea and we start acting it out, and we see where it goes from there. How does that sound?”
Poe takes one of the snacks and considers. Something foreign to him, sure, but it’s not altogether that odd of a way to engage with fiction. He nods, eats the snack, and forgets to continue to question Ranpo’s line of thinking. “I believe we could do something with that. Ah… for the story line I have so far… hm. Well, in this new framing, a woman comes to the detectives and asks for help to solve her husband’s murder–”
“Femme Fatale,” Ranpo nods. “Classic. Okay, she didn’t do it.”
Poe pauses, accepts this as truth, and continues. “The body was found near the shore, wrapped up in bandages. When the bandages are peeled away, it’s clear that the skin has been peeled off. The method, of course, is not revealed within the beginning of the story. One must wait for the autopsy report, which is something I have yet to devise. The man was wrapped up with his arms over his chest and there is no trace of hair or any fingerprints found on the body. It was hard to identify…”
“But she did,” Ranpo interjected. “Because she has to be somewhat suspicious, right? An idiot reading the book would have to fall for
that
trick, but you’ll have to do better than that to trick me.”
“Precisely,” he says, and life begins to come back to those tired eyes. He sits up straighter in his chair and looks at Ranpo between the curtain of bangs. “And of course, there are the clueless police officers whose only lead is our heroine.”
“She needs a name,” Ranpo hums, tapping his lips. “We’ll come up with one later. Actually, who is gonna play her? She’s a major part of it, right? She’s sort of the three main characters…”
“I can play her and the junior detective, that shouldn’t be too difficult to manage.”
“No, no, that won’t do,” Ranpo says, and pulls out his phone. “Don’t worry, I have a talented and dramatic actress that I can call just for this. It’s practically the role he was born for, to be honest with you.”
Poe’s face shifts from an expression of confusion to one of understanding in a matter of seconds. He nods and a small little smile forms on his face. Aha! Yes, of course the part of the heroine, the woman whose purpose is to drive the story and
not
solve it, should be played by an individual who does not understand the intricate workings of a detective’s mind.
That
position belongs to those who are more talented and competent in the field – something with which both he and Ranpo have proven they are more than adequate for.
When Mushitaro answers Ranpo’s call, Poe feels less jealous and insecure. Of course the roles would be assigned as such, it is what they all know, after all. And it’s not as if he has ever had an issue with Mushitaro – he quite likes him, in fact, it’s just when he thought that his position as Ranpo’s rival might be threatened…
“Yeah, he said he’d come,” Ranpo says, and pops back on his heels. He bends forward at the hips, hands on his waist, and puts his face right in Poe’s. Poe swallows, eyes widen, and Ranpo grins. “You know what that means, right?”
As if it’s a test, he puts his hand to his chin and considers it from Ranpo’s angle. Now there are three of them involved in this game, which can only mean one thing.
“Ah… costumes?” he supposes. He’d used the word
actress
to describe Mushitaro, implying a stage of some sort – the stage could be this room, or perhaps one with more space if they needed additional props. Thinking about it, this room with its large desk and singular chair was probably not ideal for the workings of a play; the living room might be more appropriate for this activity. “We will use those in order to get into character. After all, it is the clothes that make the man… I believe that is the saying.”
Ranpo flicks his forehead and grins wide. Poe mirrors the expression despite the sharp pain between his brows. “This is why you’re the only rival for me, you’re the only one who can keep up!”
Poe does not wonder how Ranpo sees through all his insecurities and weaknesses and soothes them, but he’s glad for it. He has no time to ponder it either, for Ranpo takes his hand and tugs him out of the chair and into Poe’s bedroom. It’s a large enough place with a walk in closet – he has all sorts of outfits for different situations. Should Ranpo ever call for him to be undercover, he is positive he would be able to blend into the role he was assigned. Ranpo looks through all the clothes and hums to himself as Poe makes himself useful by arranging three chairs, one for each of them, figuring this room was as good as any to play out their scene.
Finding the appropriate costumes does not prove to be that difficult. Poe is impressed by the way that Ranpo is able to pull together different articles of clothing in order to make unique and distinctive combinations. Ranpo is fitted in a disheveled and too-large button down, his own trousers, and comically large glasses, though Poe is not sure where those came from. He wets his hair in the bathroom and slicks it back a little before handing over a pile of clothes for Poe.
“This is the costume for my character, I assume?” he asks, not judgemental, simply asking – this outfit seems to shave off a couple years from his age, perhaps it is because of the way it fits snug around his chest. His trousers are tight at the hips and a deep black, almost giving him a feminine form. Poe doesn’t mind that so much, but these are a little difficult to move in. “Should I do something to alter my hair?”
Ranpo grins. “Always one step ahead of you, Ed,” he says, and puts his hands on his shoulders to force him to sit down. Poe does, ever obedient, and Ranpo brushes the hair away from his eyes and pins his bangs back. The look is complete – Poe can tell without looking at himself that there is a difference in implied age between the both of them now.
Ranpo scrutinizes Poe’s face, and then rushes back to the closet. He pulls out a small palette of makeup and comes back, adding the pale shade to Poe’s lower lids and evening out his skin tone in the process.
“Better,” Ranpo says, and dots his nose with a little blush in order to really make him look
youthful
. They both sufficiently look the part, and there’s already a fresher feel to the air around the pair – creativity seems to be just around the bend, slightly out of reach, and Poe just needs an extra little push to grab at it.
There’s a knock on the door. Poe sits at attention, because even if this is his house he knows that Ranpo will be the one to greet his guest. He wrinkles his nose just a little in a vain attempt to get used to the makeup on his face, and blinks owlishly as Mushitaro steps into the bedroom.
“What exactly have you two roped me into?” He's dressed up, as per usual; donning a light blue suit and tie that really make his features pop, his hair is slicked back and he looks at the both of them, one hand on his chest and the other resting on his waist.
“We’re helping Poe to get over his stupid writer’s block. I told you that on the phone.”
“Yes, you did,” Mushitaro allows, slowly, as if he’s concerned he’s about to fall into one of Ranpo’s traps. Poe knows the feeling all too well – that wariness, that knowledge that you will be bested – but his concern has since been alleviated. Ranpo is most likely not doing this for selfless reasons – Poe is not delusional enough to believe that Ranpo has turned over an altruistic leaf. However, whatever reward awaits Ranpo is none of Poe’s concern, and ought not to be one of Mushitaro’s either. “But you had neglected to tell me that I would need an… outfit.”
“Oh, that’s because I have one for you!” Ranpo pops up again and turns around to rummage through Poe’s closet. “Just get undressed, and I’ll help you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, come on Mushitaro. Poe and I have both seen you naked, don’t be shy.”
Mushitaro turns his whole body towards Poe and mouths ‘
you told him
?’ with such a vehemence that if Poe were not seated, he might have startled. He almost is offended, not on his own behalf but on Ranpo’s, for clearly this could have been easily deduced by seeing the two of them in a room together. What the two of them might have could be considered
casual
, but it is not secret. Poe shrugs his shoulders inwards instead of answering.
“Mushitaro, don’t scare Poe,” Ranpo says without turning around. He’s looking up at the clothes that Poe owns and goes through them seemingly haphazardly, dropping some on the ground and stepping over it to get to some of the clothes in the back. “I deduced it from the moment you came into the room. I’m glad that you two are getting along now.”
Poe doesn’t have the decency to blush, but Mushitaro does. Ranpo comes back over and holds up a large, tight, black undershirt that probably never belonged to Poe (it looks, Poe thinks, almost like it was Twain’s) and snaps his fingers. Mushitaro huffs but he obeys, stripping down quickly to his boxers. Ranpo pulls the shirt over his head and watches as it sits shapelessly on Mushitaro’s body.
“Poe, do you care if I cut this shirt up?”
“Not at all. Please,” is Poe’s response, and he leans forward to look as Ranpo grabs the scissors. Not having a dress for the femme fatale to wear was a severe oversight. Even though this idea had just been birthed merely thirty or so minutes ago, Poe cannot help but feel he was the one to blame for this mistake. Nonetheless, the shirt is cut into a deep v-neck so that Mushitaro can wear it off-the-shoulders, and then hiked up enough so the bottom rests at the tops of his thighs. Still Poe does not even flinch, so locked in is he that he does not question when Ranpo cuts out the sides to allow skin to peek through.
“Ah! Ranpo… I think that’s quite enough!” is Mushitaro’s response, and Ranpo just grins. The two look at each other for a moment, and when Ranpo puts the scissors down he takes his seat in the only chair in the room. Poe, in turn, takes his paper and places it on his lap so he can take notes.
“So, you’re playing the mysterious woman whose husband just died. His body was found by the shore, wrapped up in bloody bandages with his skin peeled off.”
“So I’m the murderer, then?”
“That’s too obvious,” the other two respond, and Mushitaro puts up his hands in apology.
Ranpo waves his hand. “But you’re a serial adulterer. You really are a femme fatale. I think your husband was into it, though, whatever helps you get into character.”
Poe writes down on his paper:
murder victim had an infidelity kink.
Mushitaro shifts in his dress, then sits down on the bed next to Poe. “So then who did it, then, if I didn’t?”
“That’s why we’re doing this,” Poe says, scrawling on the page so he might divide his information into clues, plot beats, and character motivations.
“
That’s
why we’re doing this?”
“Obviously,” Ranpo says in a tone almost like a warning that conveys more than Poe cares to unpack at the moment. He’s setting the scene, reviewing the proverbial case file. Usually, a mystery and its solution should be birthed within the same concept, but this is not a traditional method of story-telling. Poe created a scenario that now will need to be worked backwards from, and it is something that will hopefully jolt his mind into coming up with plots once more.
Mushitaro sits up straight and puts his hands on bare thighs. He tilts his chin up and huffs. “Okay, set the scene, then, Poe.”
“Mm. All right. You’re in the office with me, the junior detective, when my mentor walks in.”
Ranpo hops to his feet, considers his body language, and schools his expression into one of utmost seriousness. He crosses his arms and puts his hands in his sleeves, keeping his expression neutral. Poe continues, motioning to the carpeted floor in invitation to imagine the props. “Before you are images of your deceased husband, you can see that he’s been wrapped in bandages. Blood is seeping through, wetting the cotton and spreading in an unsettling direction – maybe that’s from the seawater that his body was floating in for so long, maybe that’s from what is underneath. I flip the page – ” he mimes doing so, “-- and you see the uncovered body. He is almost beyond recognition with how torn his skin is. Flesh hangs from his muscles, sinew dark and salt-burned, his expression twisted into one of pure agony–”
Mushitaro stares at Poe with absolute horror.
“-- and on his body, all you see is a thin chain around his neck, with a ring you do not recognize. I look at you and lean forward before I ask when the last time you saw your husband was.”
Mushitaro inhales deeply before he starts to wail. Poe and Ranpo are both taken back as he clutches his chest, tears spring to his eyes as he pulls at his makeshift dress. “My beloved husband! He was such a good man! Who would ever do such a horrific, vividly detailed, and altogether-too-graphically-described act of violence to the
love of my life
?”
“Is that what he is?” Ranpo interjects, slamming his hand down on the side table. Poe’s lamp wobbles at the impact. “You’re going to have to be honest with us, Mrs. Mushi, because right now all we’ve got is your weak alibi and these photos to help us!”
“I loved him!” Mushitaro cries, wiping his eyes. “You have to believe me, Mr. Police Officer…”
“We’re detectives,” both Poe and Ranpo say in unison.
“Mr Detective! Please, believe me…”
“All right, all right, Mrs Mushi,” Poe cuts in. “We believe you. But we’re not getting anywhere with how things are right now. In fact, we’re losing precious time. Did you know that if a crime has not made any headway within the first forty eight hours, it becomes increasingly more difficult to solve?”
“Unless you have skills like the legendary Ranpo Edogawa, but he is just a myth in this world,” Ranpo says wistfully. Poe nods his head, and dutifully jots that down.
Mushitaro looks at Ranpo and something passes between them. He leans forward, tugs his shirt-dress down a little to show off his collarbones and the top of his chest. His elbows find his knees and Poe shifts a little to the side to give him more room and face him properly. “Surely… is there some way to convince you of my innocence?”
Poe frowns, and shakes his head. In front of him, Ranpo leans heavily on the bedside table with a pinched expression, while Mushitaro leans forward and pretends to press his non-existent breasts between his biceps. Poe needs to admit, both of them are committed to the role. “You’re going to have to give us details about what happened the last night you saw Mr. Mushi.”
“How about I show you?” Mushitaro breathes, and next to him Ranpo grins. He slips to the floor and puts his hands on Poe’s knees, looking up at him through his lashes. “I’ll demonstrate how his last night alive went. This was my husband’s favorite, you know. He loved to see a girl on her knees.”
This certainly marks a change in atmosphere. Poe looks over at Ranpo and notes that he doesn’t seem to disapprove of the situation; that tense expression from moments ago seems to have eased a bit, and he’s standing up straight to watch. Poe’s brows furrow, but he sets his paper to the side. “This isn’t usually a part of a detective's work. And it’s not something I usually include in my stories or mysteries…”
“You can cut out the sex later,” Ranpo says bluntly as Mushitaro toys with the buttons on his pants. “But this might help you get even more creative, right?”
Poe has no reason to refuse, so instead he sits back and allows Mushitaro to undress his bottom half. He picks up his hips a little to allow for the removal of his trousers, smiling down at his friend in a way that’s less in character and more genuine.
Mushitaro blushes, and Poe’s sure that’s not part of the act.
Ranpo interrupts the moment, though, and pulls Mushitaro back by his hair. “Hey! This guy’s a rookie, and you’re trying to take advantage of him. He’s learning to do things by the books – your feminine wiles won’t work on a man of the law like him.”
Mushitaro winces, and Poe recalls that he really doesn’t like his hair getting touched. It doesn’t really matter because just as he’s fixing it, Ranpo stands in front of him with his hands on his waist. “Besides, I’m the only one with the power to let you outta here!”
Mushitaro rolls his eyes – blink and you’d miss it – and starts to work on Ranpo’s pants instead. There’s a grin that spreads over Ranpo’s face, and Poe shifts in his new half undressed state. Unsure if he should redress, he reaches down for the garment and freezes as Ranpo snaps his fingers at him, shakes his head, and then grips Mushitaro by the hair again.
The moan that comes out of Mushitaro is not forced or fake – Poe’s heard it before, of course. He closes his eyes and holds Ranpo by the hips as he moves his head back and forth, dragging his tongue in such a way that Poe is able to see everything. Eyes widen, and Poe slips a hand beneath his waistband of his underwear to gently tease at his own clit.
Mushitaro moans again, his eyes turning upwards towards Ranpo. He pulls back with a soft
pop
and strokes him, pouting at the man standing above him. “Please,” he begs, breathlessly. “You have to listen to my story…”
“I’ll listen to you if you’re a good girl,” Ranpo says in his best rendition of a tough and grizzled voice, and Poe feels a shiver run through him. He sinks two fingers inside of himself and he bites down on his lip to keep himself from getting too excited. “But you have to prove that mouth is good for something other than begging, right?”
Mushitaro nods, and moves his tongue again. Poe watches and he sees Mushitaro get hard through the thin fabric, his cock straining for freedom. They both know Ranpo well enough to know that he won’t bend that easily; both of them will need to earn their release. He keeps the movement of his own fingers even, does not get too-eager – this is, in his mind, the interlude between acts, not the point of the production. Devolving this into a sex mystery certainly would not help to dislodge the block in Poe’s mind.
(And, of course, Poe has not considered that all of this was something that Ranpo had planned from the start.)
It matters little, because Mushitaro’s throat is being thoroughly
used
, and Poe cannot help the little smile that plays on his lips. Ranpo takes his natural position as the dominant actor: in control, calculating each movement as he murmurs ‘good girl’ over and over again.
He finishes on Mushitaro’s face, and Mushitaro does not even reach down to touch himself.
Poe takes that as a signal to stop the movement of his own fingers. He sits up and watches as Mushitaro looks at Ranpo through his lashes, his lips swollen and glossy. “Do you understand now, sir…?” he breathes, and Poe can swear that he sees Ranpo shudder.
For someone who did not orgasm, Mushitaro looks much more
undone
than Ranpo does. He keeps his hands on his hips like a man pleading for salvation as Ranpo fixes his trousers, leans back, and runs his fingers through his hair. Mushitaro leans into it, begs for his touch, and melts against him.
Poe remembers when the two of them first met. Times have changed, and in Mushitaro’s eyes there is only trust as the genius detective gently caresses him, taking care not to mess up his hair any more.
“Of course I understand,” he coos, and it’s not only about this game they're playing, it’s also about everything else. Poe doesn’t write that down – this is intimacy for the two of them, not something for the page. Mushitaro’s long lashes close and he presses his forehead to Ranpo’s thigh. “Why don’t you lay down for me, Mrs. Mushi, and we can talk about where you were the night your husband died?”
Poe nods, because this is how interrogations go, of course. Their femme fatale moves over to the bed and stretches out, his cock hard and visible in outline against the fabric. Poe looks – gawks, even – but quickly turns away when he notices Mushitaro’s self-satisfied smile. Ranpo sits near the pillow and pulls his head onto his lap, then pulls up the dress. Mushitaro takes this as an invitation to pull off his boxers, tossing them to the side. “Recount everything to my assistant detective.”
Poe does not need to be told twice. He pulls off his underwear and moves over to straddle Mushitaro, looking down at him with a seriousness that belies how he’s taking this particular exercise. Mushitaro smiles, touches down Poe’s thighs, and gently pulls him forward.
“We had an argument,” he breathes. His eyes close as Poe sinks down. “A terrible fight… he’d realized that I wanted to leave him, but he didn’t know when I was planning on leaving.” Poe balances his hands on his shoulders, gently rocking his hips back and forth as a soft sound leaves him. The feeling of
fullness
overtakes him, and he lets his instincts guide him. “Ah… and when I told him that I wanted to leave…”
Poe begins to move, his eyes still closed. He can imagine the expression below him, though, and knows that there is a desire to thrust
upwards
, to flip Poe onto his back and take him. Poe doesn’t mind it this way, doesn’t mind it
that
way either – but Ranpo is here, and Ranpo is the one that tells them both how to move. He’s the choreographer of this dance, the one who influences the both of them. The thing about it is, though, that neither of them have even remotely cared that it is Ranpo who directs them. In the bedroom they both look at him like he’s the sun, and they are mere planets that orbit him.
Again, Poe thinks:
if I were a poet, perhaps there would be sonnets about you.
“What happened then…?” Poe breathes, and he moves in such a way that he knows will drive Mushitaro insane. There’s a moan that leaves his lips, and a desperate little whine. Ranpo seems to approve – at least that’s how Poe interprets the sigh he makes.
“He left… ah… at six o’clock at night… right before dinner…” Mushitaro manages. “He ran out the door, he didn’t want to continue to see me. He said I was no good, that he was going to make… ah… sure that I never saw a dime of the money…”
Poe does not register the laugh that escapes Ranpo’s lips as he stops moving, picks up his paper, and writes that information down. “I see,” he says, suddenly serious – as if he is not currently sitting with Mushitaro’s cock buried inside of him. “An important part of the timeline. And the forensic data has not yet been retrieved – Mrs. Mushi, can you tell me if your husband was acting odd at all before the fight? What exactly was it that triggered this conversation?”
Mushitaro clearly does not find this as entertaining as Ranpo does. Poe doesn’t understand why he hides his smile behind his hand – perhaps this is because Poe is playing the role of the assistant detective perfectly, it is a smile of approval! Alas, there’s a pout on their suspect’s face, and he digs his nails into Poe’s thighs. “I can tell you,” he says through gritted teeth, “if you keep
questioning me
.”
“I am questioning you,” Poe says, offended, as if this were an attack on his skills as a detective. The line of questioning is perfectly reasonable, and when Ranpo says as much (to Poe’s chagrin, and Mushitaro’s annoyance) he shifts his weight and elicits a low hiss from the interrogated actor below him. “So right now we are to assume that your husband was in control of a large sum of money?”
Mushitaro gives him a pained ‘
yes’.
“Did the argument include finances?”
Beneath him, the femme fatale grits his teeth. In front of him, the senior detective giggles. “It
did
. But it was mainly about how I wanted to leave him, because other men satisfy me more. He and I argued for about fifteen minutes and he left without eating the
delicious
soup I made him.”
Poe writes all of this down and hands it to Ranpo, who keeps it close so he might reference it later. He slowly begins to move his hips, back and forth, and closes his eyes as he arches his back. Mushitaro – impatient man that he is – thrusts his hips upwards. “It must… ah… have been quite the shock to get the call this morning about his body. Weren’t you afraid when he… oh… didn’t come home that night?”
“I thought he might be off
fucking
his secretary,” Mushitaro breathed. “They had something behind my back… that’s part of why I could leave, I had to prove he’d broken the pre-nuptial. If I waited until the proof came out… I could take some of the money, since he was an adulterer, a whore like me…”
Poe pauses, and Mushitaro grips his hips. Nails dig in to leave angry little red marks on his skin. “Another character has entered the scene. The secretary, hm… this is contrived, an often utilized trope in this sort of fiction, but she could be another red herring.”
“Exactly,” Ranpo agrees, and scribbles something down. “So you’ll have to write her in there as well.”
Poe does not take as long this time to move his hips, causing Mushitaro to sigh with relief. He taps his lips and thinks for another moment, lost in thought and ignoring the aching man beneath him. “We still don’t have a motive for the killer, besides the traditional money. Which I suppose could work in this simple premise. I’ll need at least one more person, and I feel that since he was so unlucky in love we need not add another amour to the mix.”
Mushitaro’s moans answer him, and his hips press up in a tell-tale sign of incoming climax, which is interrupted by Ranpo smacking him in the face with the papers.
“Autopsy report is in! Look what this says! Says that he ate the soup, so our girl’s a liar!”
Poe fully gets off of Mushitaro and takes the papers that Ranpo holds. Upon it is a picture of what one would assume is meant to be Mushitaro, crudely drawn with exaggerated breasts, holding a bowl of what – given context clues – must be the offending dinner. Next to him is a man with a speech bubble that reads:
My wife may be a harlot, but she can make a good bowl of miso!
Poe shakes his head. “And I almost believed you, Mrs. Mushi.”
Mushitaro, rightfully, groans and tilts his head back. “This is… he did not have the soup! I’m not lying to you!”
Ranpo
tsks
and shakes his head. “A likely story. Since this was still in his stomach at the time of death, that means that he was killed within a few hours of
your
dinner being served. Now, why would you lie about something as seemingly inconsequential as
dinner
?”
Mushitaro seems to be racking his brain for something to say, his brows furrowed together in a show of confusion. Poe kneels back on his calves, writes down underneath Ranpo’s drawing: ‘
suspect seems sincere in her denial of the autopsy results.’
“It must have been someone else who fed him,” is what Mushitaro settles on. “I can prove that I made soup last night – the dishes are still in the sink, the vegetable scraps in the garbage – and I can show you that with the leftovers, there could only be enough for one of us. Besides, why would he stay here after we had such an intense argument over finances and infidelity? Why would he want to stay and eat my homemade meal?”
Ranpo shakes his head and pulls something from somewhere behind him, like a magic trick. Mushitaro recognizes the object before Poe does, and groans as Ranpo slips a cock ring onto him.
“Mrs. Mushi,” Ranpo says seriously. “You are under arrest for suspicion of involvement in your husband’s death!”
Poe writes that down. A perfect twist, an assumption that the real killer has been caught. So far, he has a motive, timing, an alibi that’s shaky; all that remains is the cold, hard facts and a confession. The issue, of course, is he remembers that they’d agreed this was not the person who was the killer: this is someone who is meant to serve as a red herring. Mushitaro is doing a perfect job of that.
Ranpo cackles like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to him, and he stands up – completely naked – and puts his hands on his hips. “So we have our main suspect in for interrogation, and we caught her in a lie! Assistant detective, what do we do next?”
Poe snaps to attention and puts his hands on his lap. There’s a few options here, as far as the story goes. The ‘other woman’ would be another too-obvious plot twist, though he does not begrudge an amateur such as Mushitaro for coming up with such a plotline. However, there are no other leads, which means that Poe as the de facto DM will need to come up with something, while still remaining in character. “We still cannot determine where the victim was killed. We’ve already searched his home and there’s no proof that he was murdered there.”
“Good!” Ranpo says. “So we have to figure that out, right?”
“Correct, but I’m also interested to see exactly how he was killed. Did the autopsy report include that information at all?”
“Did it?” Ranpo turns to Mushitaro.
Mushitaro rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “How am I to know? You’re the detectives.”
“We’re all telling a story together,” Ranpo corrects.
“Yes, yes, but I’m here as an
extra
, and right now I am undergoing the worst sort of torture from the both of you.”
Ranpo snaps his fingers in Mushitaro’s face. “Ideas!”
He sighs. “He was skinned, correct? I don’t think he was skinned while he was alive. There probably was a reason that the murderer thought that necessary to do – there may have been something on the skin that could not be wiped away easily? In order to hide where it happened, the criminal took all of his skin off?”
“Spoken like a true criminal,” Ranpo praises, and Mushitaro pouts. It makes Poe smile, and he thinks about how he can get Ranpo to praise him next. “All right, that’s written in the autopsy report. Ed, next thought!”
Poe nods and pretends to look over the papers which now are littered with nonsensical doodles and tidbits of information. Ranpo is the genius detective, however this is all for Poe’s sake – he needs to solve this false mystery in order to free himself of the burdens of a writer’s block. So he thinks, takes it seriously, and looks up at the both of them.
“Poison. There was poison in the food.”
Ranpo grins. “Good boy.”
Poe feels a jolt of arousal shoot right between his thighs, and his cheeks turn light pink.
Ranpo clearly notices but continues on. “Now, we have that piece of the puzzle, we can figure out where the poison came from…”
“Probably from whatever
side piece
my good-for-nothing husband was sleeping with,” Mushitaro mumbles.
“Here are the facts as I see them,” Poe ignores Mushitaro, who tries to take the cock ring off and earns a slap on the wrist from Ranpo. “Mr. Mushi ate the soup, this was the same food that Mrs. Mushi had prepared that day. However, she claims that he did not eat it. Assuming that she’s telling the truth, this means that someone else gave him the exact same food that she was planning on feeding him, but poisoned. This means that someone was framing Mrs. Mushi from the beginning, and it must have been someone close enough to the both of them to be able to see her dinner plans…”
“Or a stalker,” Mushitaro adds. He looks over at Ranpo, and Ranpo grins. Poe considers this as a possibility, and scribbles that note down between one of the various obscene doodles that Ranpo had left on the page. “My character is so beautiful and desirable, it would make sense that someone would want her.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ranpo waves his hand. “Sure, enough about you. Where did you go during the day? When did you buy your groceries? Actually! Give me that.”
Ranpo pulls the paper out of Poe’s hand, and there’s a large pen mark that runs down from his notes to the bottom of the page. Without being asked, he hands the pen over and watches as Ranpo adds more information to their cluttered notes. “Look at this! Credit card transactions. Judging by the timing, it seems our guy went to the grocery store after his fight with our girl.”
Mushitaro flops his head back. “The local grocer, owned by the sweetest couple. They always ask me about their day, and their son thinks I’m
so
pretty.” He tilts his head and looks at Ranpo, who is looking at Poe. Slowly he reaches down to try to pull that ring off again. “Maybe you’ll find a clue.”
“Okay, now we’re onto something!” Ranpo says as he grabs Mushitaro’s hand and brings it to
his own
cock, a silent demand to touch him and not himself. “Mrs Mushi you’re coming with us, because we’re going back to the grocer!”
Mushitaro sits up, but doesn’t take his hand off of Ranpo. “Am I no longer under arrest?” he breathes, and Ranpo laughs.
“No way. You were
very
naughty, and I think you need to remember your place. Start your penance now, and maybe if I’m in a better mood later I’ll free you. Okay, Poe, lie down and spread your legs. Tell me what happens next.”
When Ranpo tells him to do something, Poe does not hesitate. He lays down as Ranpo pulls away from Mushitaro’s grip, slips between his legs, and taps his cock against Poe’s wet cunt. “We go to the grocery store. It’s currently staffed by the old man, who recognizes Mrs. Mushi.”
“Perfect. So these are our new characters, huh? We have a couple, their son… are they all there?” he asks, and Poe shivers as Ranpo teases at his slit. His clit feels electric, but he doesn’t beg; that’s Mushitaro’s domain, and it’s something that Ranpo does like, but he wants to be
good
today. He looks up at him with half lidded eyes, his bangs still pinned back so those big dark eyes can really drink in the man on top of him. Poe has always been in awe of Ranpo, of his skills and of his mind, but words fail him when he tries to express that out loud.
“Why do you get to be in him?” Mushitaro breaks Poe’s train of thought just as Ranpo presses into him, both sets of eyes closing. He starts to move slowly, ignoring the pouting third.
“Okay, so we’ve got our team. Start playing them, you’re the author here.”
He nods, and he bends his knees so his feet are flat on the bed, his legs spread sinfully. “Ah… he asks… ha… he asks her how she’s been…”
“And how does Mrs. Mushi answer?”
Poe can nearly hear the pout on Mushitaro’s face. This is not for him, and his punishment for terrible roleplaying has not ended; Poe does not think about why this is the direction this exercise has gone, but he cannot say he’s disappointed.
Mushitaro sighs but continues. “Not well, my good sir. My husband recently passed away…”
“He… ah… says he’s sorry to hear that…” Poe whispers. Ranpo picks up his hips and thrusts slowly, his eyes on Poe’s face as he nods and encourages him more. “He has… two workers with him… his wife isn’t there, but his son and his son’s best friend…”
“I don’t recognize the best friend, but I blow a kiss to the son.”
“He… blushes… Ranpo, right there, ah…”
“Shh…” Ranpo whispers, and presses a finger to his clit. The circular motion makes Poe’s eyes roll into the back of his head. “Keep telling us what happens. You’re being such a good detective for me, a good rival…”
Poe moans, and arches his back slightly. He’s not too undone, not too desperate – distantly, he thinks, this is how Ranpo wants him. The precipice of pleasure, but not quite falling in and drowning in it. “The boy… the best friend, he offers us all candy… on the house, he says he made it himself…”
“Oh, I take that and eat it,” Ranpo says simply. “Yummy.”
“I’ll put it in my pocket,” Mushitaro says, watching them both with barely concealed jealousy. Poe turns his head away, looks to the side and moans again. Lips find his neck, and he inhales sharply.
“I do… too…” Poe manages, and realizes Ranpo has stopped touching him some time ago. He reaches down to replace those missing fingers, gliding over his clit in a lazy motion. Ranpo lets him – and Mushitaro looks like he’s about to start touching himself when Ranpo wags a finger at him. “The candy is sticky… and bright red… it tastes good in your mouth. Around the store there’s… freshly prepared food to-go for those who are too busy to make their own at home… ”
“They made the same soup I made,” Mushitaro says, leaning forward on his elbows now. He frowns. “It’s available for anyone to take. Ah, it appears to be my exact recipe.”
“So you’re saying that Mr. Mushi could have gone to the store and gotten the exact same soup that you supposedly lovingly made? For shame, you probably didn’t even make it.”
“I’ll ask for them… to pack us up some… see if it contains any poison…” Poe whispers his interruption, then gives up the movement of his fingers and starts to grind against Ranpo. Ranpo smiles, lets him, and starts to move fast.
“Don’t worry, Mrs Mushi, you’ll have satisfaction later,” Ranpo says, and Poe distantly thinks that this might be a lie. Even if it isn't, Mushitaro looks like he’s in his own special sort of hell at present. “Be good for the detectives, let us solve the case and bring the real killer to justice…”
Poe moans in agreement, and though he is not chasing his own pleasure as much as he wants to bring Ranpo his, he still closes his eyes and enjoys it. He feels lips press against his jaw and recognizes them as Mushitaro’s, then feels Ranpo’s kiss him deeply. There are colors that are flashing in his mind, bright and beautiful and in his face; there is a wave of relaxation that shifts over him and if he were to focus he’s sure his vision would go white.
But it ends as soon as it’s started, and he feels Ranpo finish inside of him. He pulls out and Poe smiles up at him, affection clear through all the acting. He wants to ask how he feels, but that’s not part of the skit – the mystery of it all, the fake-fucking in the grocery store. The characters who are frozen in their collective mind’s eye, voyeurs of this interlude before the big reveal. He turns his head and it’s Mushitaro who kisses him now, lustful and clearly on edge, begging for some sort of release.
“And then, suddenly!” Ranpo sits up. Poe jolts, Mushitaro falls back, and they raise their eyebrows in unison. Ranpo clutches his chest and closes his eyes, swaying back and forth. “This detective feels something terrible in his body. Something is very wrong!”
Poe sits up and looks at him with wide eyes. Mushitaro looks less annoyed and almost relieved at this development, for they all know this is the end of the play. “No! What’s happened?!”
Ranpo’s fist is pressed to his sternum. He gasps, then flops down onto the bed on top of Mushitaro. “I see the light… I can see the end… everything is closing in on me… what is this unexpected feeling?”
“No!” Poe moves over top of Ranpo, straddling him now. He shakes his shoulders and frowns – a fake expression upon his face, sure, but he believes it to be convincing enough. “What happened? Please, we have not yet solved this case, there are too many missing pieces… how are we to figure out who the killer is, and clear our suspect’s name?”
Ranpo reaches forward, touches Poe’s cheek and looks at him with what Poe assumes is his greatest approximation of a dying man’s expression. “My junior detective… this is the end of the line for me,” he pretends to cough. “But before I go into that great beyond, I can tell you who committed the crime…”
“Please,” Poe whispers, like this is an actual life-or-death situation. Mushitaro is fully invested as well, his lower lip worrying between his teeth. There’s a dramatic beat of silence, the forced haggard breathing of a man who is pretending to die but actually is still coming off the high of orgasm. The precipice that Poe balances on is joined by Mushitaro and the world pauses for this soliloquy.
“It was…” Ranpo whispers, and then his eyes close.
There is a moment of silence where Ranpo pretends to be dead, his body slumped in Poe’s arms. He leans against him and lets his body go limp as both Mushitaro and Poe look down at him. The dead man’s speech is not much of a speech at all, which gives Poe no additional material to work on. Though, the death was inspired; this is the point where the reader should be able to solve the mystery for themselves, assuming all the pieces have been neatly laid out. Heavy editing (and critiquing) will need to be conducted in this regard, however Poe cannot complain about the death scene itself.
“Typical of a mystery writer,” Mushitaro grumbles, and Poe does not explain that
he
is the writer, and Ranpo is the detective. Poe creates the mysteries, and Ranpo solves them. He’s just being gracious enough to spend the time to help Poe out of his predicament. “I suppose we’re going to have to solve this mystery ourselves. Any ideas?”
Poe picks up the notes and looks at them, ignoring Ranpo as he splays out across Mushitaro. He sees him shift in the corner of his vision and considers briefly that he must be slightly uncomfortable with the ring around his cock, but his priority is in solving this mystery.
Which, when Poe thinks about it, turns out to be an incredibly simple one.
“Look at his lips,” Poe says, and though there is nothing on Ranpo’s face Mushitaro nods as if there is. His fingers glide along his lips, and Ranpo sticks out his tongue with a ‘
bleh
’ sound. “The residue from the candy… it stains the skin. It seeps in and I can guarantee that if we bring this to the forensics lab we might be able to learn some additional information about what poisons are hidden away.”
“Hm. And that would account for why the victim – ah, my dear, beloved husband – was skinned after death. The culprit needed to get rid of the evidence.”
Poe smiles, and he sits up a little more. The pieces are coming together, ah! Ranpo, the genius, solved the mystery before all the evidence was fully collected! Truly, he is an inspiration. “Precisely my thoughts. You have the mind of a true detective, Mrs Mushi. Perhaps after this is all complete, you can be
my
assistant.”
From the grave, Ranpo scoffs. Mushitaro laughs a little and pushes his hair back. It makes Poe think of a peacock. “Perhaps I can. Now, we should arrest the culprit and clear my name, no?”
Poe circles the grocery store information on the paper. “Exactly. Ah, I arrest the boy who gave us the candy. He confesses, of course, and once this is edited I’ll have a better reason for why he allowed us to try the candy. Perhaps he thought the poison would be more slow-acting? He does explain how he had a complicated scheme to murder the husband and try to win your hand after you were freed of his grip, however. It seems this case was motivated by love, but not in the way you would assume.”
“Then why did he frame me? You’re missing a piece there. The soup – that makes no sense why they would go to all that trouble.”
“Perhaps…” Poe taps his lips. Mushitaro is right: this has become a major part of the storyline. Why Mrs. Mushi was arrested, why was she under suspicion in the first place? There needs to be some payoff for all of that, otherwise the ending would not be satisfactory. “Ah, it was not to frame you. It was to give you an alibi. You see, your husband purchased soup from this place after he left your home. The murderer knew what you were planning on making for dinner, because you had been by earlier that day. He suggested the soup to Mr. Mushi. The receipt wasn’t printed for him, because he wanted it to look like you’d fed him – instead it was tossed out, they wanted to place you at home at a later time so there was no way that you might have committed the murder.”
“That is an incredibly convoluted way to kill a person,” Mushitaro says.
“Almost as convoluted as selling a manuscript, tossing a body double out of a window to make it look like someone committed suicide, and deleting all evidence just to try to trick one detective,” Ranpo mumbles.
“Touche. And where was the body skinned?”
“That would be behind the grocery store,” Poe continues. “The only evidence we need is the murder weapon, which can be found disposed of within the dumpster in the back.”
Mushitaro hums and gently pushes Ranpo onto the mattress. Ranpo makes no sound of protest, he’s pretending to be dead again. He moves over to Poe and wraps his arms around his neck, his lips finding his collarbone. “Oh, and what a big, strong detective you are… solving the case and freeing me from this horrible, horrible situation… however can I repay you?”
Poe hums and considers it. This did not go the way he’d planned, but mysteries hardly ever do. That’s the point of them, is it not? To confuse and confound even the author? Does that not make for a compelling narrative?
Nope. Sometimes you just write something very inane, contrived, and stupid and you need to get it out of your system.
“This mystery was actually horrible. The pieces are too forced, and I think if
you
were able to solve it, it is too easy for someone like Ranpo.”
Mushitaro’s expression drops as he looks at him with a grimace. “I don’t think the point of this was to create a coherent narrative.”
“No, but it was to dismantle the wretched writer’s block,” Poe agrees. Mushitaro’s expression clearly betrays that he does not think this to be the case, which surprises him – did he really expect this to be a work of art when the three of them were making things up as they went? “Which it has. Now, I can refine this mystery and present it before Ranpo… except, ah! He was here for the reveal, this is no mystery! This is nothing, he would solve it the moment he learned about the corpse because he acted within the story!”
Mushitaro seems unsympathetic to Poe’s dilemma. “Shouldn’t we finish out the scene?”
“There’s no point,” Poe laments, and Mushitaro pulls back with a frustrated huff. Finishing the scene would hold no new literary value. There is nothing to be gained here, because the writer’s block has been defeated already and therefore there is no reason to continue on. There is still a dull ache between his thighs, and knows that there is a sharp pain that must be keeping Mushitaro from fully relaxing.
He does not consider that this might be the reason that Mushitaro would want to finish the roleplay, however.
“Hold a moment, I will return to bed and we can engage in regular sexual intercourse after I’ve written down my thoughts,” he says, and stands up. There’s a new thought forming in the back of his mind – a new mystery, one with additional twists and turns, but not the same format as this detective procedural. He needs to write out the basics before he falls asleep or rests with the other two, or else all this momentum will be wasted. And what a shame that would be – he would need to ask the two of them to help him out all over again.
Through gritted teeth, Mushitaro chokes out. “Fine. I will stay here, and ask Ranpo to release me from my
shackles
.”
As Poe heads to the door, thoughts full of a new mystery, he does not point out that Ranpo is fast asleep, tired from his multiple orgasms, and will not be helping Mushitaro. He smiles a little, turns his head in the doorway and motions for Mushitaro to follow.
Ah, perhaps he can take pity on him and multitask.