Disclaimer: I do not own Love Hina. This is a piece of frivolous fan fiction and is meant to entertain only.
Author's Note:
So as you can tell, I love Motoko. There are just so many dimensions to this character that I want to explore in my writings. I only hope you can bear with me as I unload myself of all these Motoko stories. To give you folks an understanding of what I'm trying to achieve. I have written four stories so far: Absolution, A Second Chance for Love, A Story of Revenge, and this one. Each story explores love, hate, redemption, and loss through the Motoko lens. I hope you enjoy.
The Ebb and Flow of Things
A beautiful woman stood and watched as the sun descended below the Kyoto skyline. Her raven black hair, caught by the rising winds, danced around her. In her hand was a picture of a new-born baby girl. The night sky settled in; the full moon blanketing the city below with its pale glow.
Under the moonlight, Tsuroko Aoyama wept silently as she languished in her misery. "Why was I so foolish?" she cried out, letting her tears flow unabated. She wanted to scream and lash out – her anger in need of release – but she had no foe or target to attack. She was alone; pain was her only companion.
Two strong arms gently wrapped themselves around her shoulders. Tsuroko felt the gentle warmth engulfing her, rescuing her from misery's grip. "Why don't you go to her Tsuroko?" the man holding her asked. Looking towards the moon, she sighed, "Husband, I promised to stay away from her and I will not break that promise." As she uttered those words, Tsuroko's emotions broke through her defenses, tearing asunder her resolve. She collapsed to her knees, pounding the ground with her fists.
"Why does it have to be this way?" she choked out the words, struggling to keep from losing herself to the grief. Tsuroko's husband rushed to her, saying nothing at first. He held her in his arms, gently stroking her back, trying to soothe her. She sobbed into his shoulder, drenching his shirt with her tears. There under the moon, they sat enmeshed in one another's arms.
Tanaka Yasuhiro did not belong in Tsuroko's world, where the traditions and customs of feudal Japan lived on. He was raised as a Catholic, received his formal education in America, and worked as a tech consultant for a European firm operating in Japan – he was of the new breed of men and women emerging from the globalized world.
He viewed the ancient customs and traditions of his people as anachronistic and incompatible with the demands of the modern era – that was until he met her. It was a chance encounter, but a moment that would change his life forever. He was in a rush that day to get to work. Reaching a street corner, Tanaka remembered that he had left his wallet behind at the diner where he ate breakfast. Braking fast, he whirled around, getting ready to run back to the diner when he collided into someone. Instantly, he shifted his momentum to propel his body backwards to avoid the full-on collision, leaving him vulnerable as he careened towards the unforgiving concrete below. He clenched his eyes shut, bracing for the pain to come, but it never did. Yasuhiro's eyes flew open as he felt his momentum stop in mid-air. What he saw surprised him. A beautiful woman, dressed in a traditional kendo garb was holding him, preventing him from falling. He blushed as he met the woman's gaze. "You're beautiful," he gasped, causing the woman to blush.
A month later, they were married. Tanaka was happy with Tsuroko, but was pained to see her live her life in such confounding ways. Her relationship with her sister had been strained – almost non-existent – for the past few years. His wife never spoke of how their relationship had been marred – only that it was a matter of honor. Tanaka had often thought that his wife's blind obedience to tradition and honor to be foolish, but he would never openly criticize her way of life. Instead, he bore witness to the quiet death consuming her soul.
Lost in his own thoughts, Tanaka had not notice his wife's tears subsiding. It was the sharp push of his body being thrust backwards that snapped him from his daze. He felt the whole length of his wife's body pressing down on him, her silken black hair filling his nostrils with her scent. His desires ceased the moment he heard her words whispered into his ear, "I want to confess husband." Tanaka finally understood the depth of his wife's pain – the evidence made clear in her voice. He draped his arms over her and made ready for the confession that Tsuroko had kept buried within her for these past three years.
"I just wanted my sister to be happy," Tsuroko said, as she began her tale.
"Sister, what are you doing here?" stuttered Motoko. Arriving home from school, Motoko had not expected her older sister to be waiting for her back at the Hinata Sou. Tsuroko, sitting in the company of Keitaro Urashima and the other residents, replied, "Is that any way of greeting your sister Motoko?"
Motoko was to inherit and take charge the Aoyama's school of swordsmanship: the Shinmeiryu. Tsuroko, the former heir-apparent and leader of the Aoyama clan, was denied the position when she had married Yasuhiro. Shortly after her marriage, Motoko left home to continue her training. After three long years, Tsuroko wanted her beloved sister home and meant to bring her back with her.
Motoko would have none of it. She felt unprepared for the clan leadership or the prospect of being sovereign over her elder sister. But mostly Motoko was afraid of failing Tsuroko and the family legacy. Desperation ran through the younger Aoyama's mind as Tsuroko dragged Motoko towards the exit.
With surprising strength, Motoko broke free from her sister's clutches, and ran towards Urashima. Holding on to his arm, she yelled out, "Sister, I cannot leave, because I am going to marry this man."
Keitaro stood gaping at Motoko's words, the air forced from his lungs. "Then, I guess you will not be coming home Motoko. I believe congratulations are in order," Tsuroko responded cheerfully.
The seeds of Tsuroko's long torment had been sowed. She had seen through Motoko's hastily crafted deception, but rather than end the charade, Tsuroko chose to follow along. She believed that the will of heaven had granted her an opportunity to strengthen her sister's will, all that she needed to do was exploit the situation. It was a plan fated to go awry.
How she cursed her decision that day. Tsuroko unveiled Motoko's lie in the hot springs of the Hinata Sou, forcing her sister to fight a duel that she had no hope of winning. In defeat, Tsuroko hoped that Motoko would find renewed strength and vigor to unlock her untapped potential. She had hoped that through this trial, Motoko would be able surpass her in skill and ability.
Instead, she broke her sister's spirit.
"You are banned from the training dojo Motoko. Cast aside your sword and live as a normal school girl," Tsuroko declared, hovering above her defeated sister. Motoko heard those words ringing in her ears. The rain began to pour down, enveloping her in a cold shroud. All she felt was the void consuming her very essence.
Keitaro placed a towel over the naked girl, her covering torn asunder by Tsuroko's attack. "Let's get you out of the rain Motoko," Keitaro said gently. "Where will I go now, Keitaro, I have no home to call my own," Motoko whispered, starting to shiver from the realization.
"You can stay here as you long as you like Motoko, the Hinata Sou and I will always be here for you," he replied, easing her off the ground. Looking up to meet his gaze, Motoko, her eyes wide and trembling, asked, "Will you be there for me Keitaro?"
The next day, Motoko attempted to live the life of a normal woman. She took to the chores with a renewed sense of purpose. "I shall be the best woman I can be," she declared to herself as she made breakfast for her friends in the Hinata Sou.
Unfortunately, the zeal in which Motoko applied herself adversely affected her friends. The strict regiment that Motoko adhered to was a lifestyle not shared by any of her fellow residents. Her sense of self, along with her pride, crumbled as she overheard her friends criticize her newfound ways.
"Motoko has gone too far, replacing my sake with vinegar. I mean, who the hell does she think she is, Martha Stewart," Kitsune cried out. "She is going overboard Keitaro, we have to do something," Shinobu lamented. "What was she wearing? It looked like something out of a costume party," Sarah threw out. "Motoko's no lady," Su gleefully added. "Yeah, I know guys, but we have to give her some time, okay," responded Keitaro, trying to placate his tenants concerns.
The impromptu war council was interrupted by Motoko's high-pitch wail, as she ran away crying. Keitaro gave chase. Desperate and lost in her own grief, Motoko miscalculated her steps and fell to the ground. Keitaro, seeing her fall, leapt to catch her, but managed only to pull down her panties. Horrified that Keitaro had seen her most guarded of places, struck him with a devastating uppercut that sent him flying into the stratosphere.
Motoko wandered the streets of Hinata Springs, the night rain drenching her to the bone. She felt the desolation threatening to devour her. She had failed as a warrior and now a woman. Even the mangy dog that bit her had rejected her.
She longed for sweet oblivion. Motoko slumped to the ground, allowing the cold rain to wash over her. "Wash me away rain," Motoko prayed silently. When she felt a pause in the falling rain, Motoko looked up. There stood Keitaro, holding an umbrella over her. Before she could find her words, Keitaro knelt down and offered her a jacket. "C'mon Motoko, let's go home," he said gently, holding his free hand out for her to grab. "Keitaro," she replied, taking his hand into her own.
Keitaro eased her up, holding the umbrella over her. He then draped her coat over her shoulders and wrapped his free arm around her body, trying to warm the now shivering girl. Motoko placed her head on his shoulder, wanting to feel his warmth. Keitaro was nervous at first. He had never been this close to a girl, an especially beautiful one at that. He could smell the faint traces of her shampoo over the musty wetness of the falling rain. It excited him, as did the feel of her body pressing against him.
"Not now, you pervert," Keitaro screamed in his mind, "you have to help Motoko." As they walked, side by side, Motoko's mind journeyed through her memories. She remembered the day that she first met Keitaro. It was also raining on that day. She thought he was just another perverted male, but she felt drawn to him. She even came to believe that she was in love with him. Motoko realized later her symptoms of love were in truth nothing more than the ravages of the common cold. "It was just a cold, right?" Motoko asked herself. But doubt seeped in Motoko's thoughts.
"Keitaro is a good man."
Motoko was surprised that her thoughts could produce such a positive sentiment for the man she had labeled a pervert and a weakling. But she could not deny the truth – Keitaro possessed a kind soul. He had gone along with her lie to protect her, even though he risked alienating his one true love – Naru Narusegawa.
Her chest tightened. "What is this feeling?" wondered Motoko, "Could I be jealous?"
Motoko was still lost in her reverie when she finally became aware that they were standing in Keitaro's room. "Here, you can wear my shirt for now," Keitaro said as he pulled out a long-sleeve button down from his closet. "I'll get us some hot tea, while you dry yourself off and change," he added, leaving the room.
She stood silently, not knowing what to do. "I guess I should dry off," she said to no one in particular. She disrobed in a slow and methodical manner, folding each article of clothing as she went. The thought of being naked in Keitaro's room frightened the ebony haired girl, but slowly, she began to acclimate to her surroundings. She paused, allowing her feelings to manifest as she stood naked amongst his possessions. A warm sensation emerged from the bleakness that had reigned in Motoko's heart. A faint smile broke from her desolate expression before receding back into the maelstrom of her emotions. The moment passed and Motoko began drying her body with a towel. Once finished, she picked up his shirt from off the floor and began to put it on. The feel of the fabric on her skin sent shivers up Motoko's spine. She caught Keitaro's scent in the lining and breathed deep, much to her surprise. She continued to suffer, but being in his presence somehow eased her pain.
Keitaro slid the door open, escaping Motoko's notice. He found Motoko sitting on his floor, drying her hair with his towel. Her legs were visible from underneath his shirt. Keitaro was taken back at the surprisingly alluring sight of Motoko in such a pose. His eyes focused on Motoko's long, sinewy legs. They were the picture of both power and elegance. "Whew, I'm glad Motoko didn't catch me staring at her legs," Keitaro thought to himself. "Here's some hot tea to warm you up," Keitaro spoke, handing her a hello kitty mug. Motoko was startled to find that Keitaro had entered the room without her notice, but did not show it. She turned to face him, her eyes peering from beneath the terry cloth, and took the warm drink into her hands. Motoko then replied in a quiet voice, "thank you."
Summing up her courage, Motoko once again spoke. "I have to apologize to you Keitaro. I've been calling you a pervert, a loser, and a weakling, but in truth, you are none of these things. I've been the one who's been weak." Keitaro sat close to Motoko, hearing every one of her words. He was touched at the heart-felt apology, but did not want Motoko to carry on with the self-abuse. "It's okay Motoko," offering his smile to her, "I know that you don't mean anything by it."
Motoko could not believe how kind his heart seemed. She had assaulted him, made trivial his dreams, and still, he stood by her. Feeling her strength collapsing, she lunged towards him, pleading, "Please, don't be so nice to me!" Keitaro was caught unprepared for Motoko's emotional outburst. She wrapped her arms around him, crying into his body. He could feel her warmth infuse into him, her scent drifting onto his tongue, almost tasting her essence.
He panicked. Keitaro could feel his lust taking root. The vulnerability that Motoko had displayed only served to accentuate her natural beauty. He wanted her, but his conscience resisted his baser desires bitterly.
The same emotions echoed in Motoko's heart. She could feel his heart beating, threatening to burst from the chest cavity. His musk clung to her nostrils, igniting a long dormant passion. She wanted him in all the ways a woman could want a man.
Motoko lifted her head and met his gaze. Their eyes locked. With trembling lips, she approached him. Keitaro could feel her breathe as she neared his face, electrifying his senses. His conscience cried out, seeking to end his descent into sin. He resisted, pausing slightly in his own movements. Motoko sensed his hesitation and became embolden by it. She closed the distance between them, placing her lips against his.
Waves of bliss swept over Motoko's body as her kiss melted into his. For so long, Motoko had denied herself intimacy and pleasure, believing them to be weaknesses that she could not afford. She cursed herself for being so foolish.
Suddenly, almost violently, Keitaro tore his lips away from Motoko's. "We can't do this…," he uttered before Motoko shoved him to the ground. Keitaro had no time to respond. Motoko was on top of him, ramming her tongue into his mouth.
The curious sensation flickering along his tongue aroused a deep hunger within him. Letting go of his inhibitions, Keitaro gave in to his baser instincts and started to caress Motoko's thighs, his hands beckoning her to continue the passionate onslaught.
The night melted away as two lovers, caught in the waves of bitter ecstasy, experience both the joys and anguish of truest intimacy.