Pairing: Yumichika/Isane
Note: So, I got to thinking. Everyone writes Yumi as gay. What's up with that? There's no real hint of any inclination one way or another-- if anything gets him off, it's beauty. Unbridled narcissism does not a gay man make. I bet he'd like a piece of feminine hiney, if it were pretty enough (geez, who wouldn't?).
Belladonna
Yumichika is a connoisseur of beauty; he surrounds himself with it, steeps himself in it until it emanates like a perfume from his skin. He knows people find him shallow, but what they don't realize is that there are many kinds of beauty, and many ways of seeing it. He likes to think he knows all those ways, is as familiar with them as a lover.
So when he spies her, tall and buxom with eyes that are both sweet and sad at the same time, he sees a beauty in the way she moves. Quick, with an economy of gesture; slightly round-shouldered, as if ashamed of her height and the prominence of her bosom.
Yumichika thinks this is a tragedy, because her figure is splendid, and he decides that she needs to know this, to remedy the problem. He also decides that he would like to know if she is capable of poetry when she moves, if she can lift her arms and slide her legs to music with grace and with joy.
Like all members of the 11th division, he is neither shy nor retiring, and once he has a goal in sight, lets little stand in his way. He confronts her, charms away her apprehensions, and convinces her to let him teach her how to dance.
He is correct, as he usually is regarding matters of beauty; once taught how to move, how to step and shift, she is beautiful. He pushes her hard, makes her strain to keep up with him. Her silvery hair turns darker from sweat, her skin gleams with it, and he wants to know the scent between her breasts.
He catches her by the long, narrow braid as it sways out from her body while she turns in another intricate move, and draws her close to him. They are of an equal height, her rapid breaths feathering against his lips. All his other partners (in dances both vertical and horizontal) have been either shorter or taller, and he prefers this equanimity between them.
"Do you find me beautiful?" he asks her, hands moving to her sash, and his nimble fingers make short work of it as he waits for her answer (even though he knows what it will be).
"Yes," she whispers, and presses her breasts into his hands. The perfect roundness and weight of them is beautiful, and he traces the blue veins of them with his lips. Her knees buckle and she slips to the ground, lovely in the languid sprawl of limbs before him. Each of her legs appears a mile long, and the smooth extension of calf and thigh, the intricate sculpture of knee and hipbone, entreats him to skim his fingertips along, along…
She is panting, breathing shallowly, and her need for him is exquisite, too. It is evident in how perspiration turns her skin from silk to velvet, in the heavy-lidded gleam of her eyes, in the slow arch of her throat when he sinks himself inside her. And the feel of her closing around him is gorgeous in a way mere words cannot express, so Yumichika stops trying, and just loses himself in the heartbreaking beauty of it all.
When it is over, he helps her to dress, tweaking her robes just so, and the self-conscious way she ties her sash pleases him. He thinks her submission to him is quite pretty, just like how she bites her lip before venturing to speak, and that perhaps teaching her to be more confident was an overestimation on his part. The most graceful posture of all, Yumichika has long felt, is on one's knees.
"I'll see you again soon?" she asks him. The sun, behind him, shines brightly, and she brings up a hand to shield her eyes. It throws half her face into shadow, and he likes the curves and hollows of her cheek and chin thus revealed. The delicacy of bone orbiting her eye pleases him.
"Of course," he assures her, smiling brilliantly, and then wider still at her frank appreciation of him. She turns and heads in the direction of her division, her narrow shoulders and slim back brushed by that little braid. She moves prettily now, relaxed and fluid, and he has been the reason for it.
Yumichika sweeps his fingers along the feathers on his face, feeling the sleek fibers against the sensitive pads, and turns toward his own division. Today, he has been beauty—seen beauty—created beauty. It is, he thinks, an excellent day.