A/N: I cannot keep my A/M from turning into fluff. Seriously, you could shove this drivel into bags and sell it as cotton candy.

This bit of spun sugar was inspired by episode 89 of the anime, which is a Lighthouse of Alexandria-magnitude beacon of hope for A/M fans. The events of that episode (other than Kenshin and Aoshi's little tea party, sans creepy foot massage) never appeared in the manga, which is usually what I go by. Nevertheless, it's such a cute little episode that I couldn't resist paying homage in my own way. The term "Lolita complex" (which is used in the subtitles of the copy of episode 89 I have) is, of course, an anachronism – Lolita was published in 1955.

Amanatsu are Japanese tangerines, about the size of a grapefruit. Shunga are traditional Japanese erotic pictures in which the genitals are drawn at an exaggerated size to show detail.

Finally, I know this is a bit of a cliffhanger and not a full lemon – I have something in mind that doesn't fit into this scene but which will follow shortly. Decide for yourself whether the last line refers to Misao's body or her personality. (And feel free to give me your thoughts on that, as the psychology of people who read my work is relevant to my interests.)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters used in my fanfiction, nor profit from my work.

Misao was more grateful than ever for her superior leg strength. You see, the bathhouse door was nearly impossible to open from the outside if you jammed it shut from the inside, and with a jerk of her calf muscles, that's just what she did.

She had no desire to be interrupted. Waiting until the middle of the night to have a bath should have guaranteed that, but Omasu could be nosy, and she wasn't about to get into…that…discussion again.

An expression of barely caged anger transformed Misao's delicate features at the memory. They had all made fun of her, even Kaoru and little Tsubame, ordinarily so sweet. As if there weren't a million things more important in Makimachi Misao's life than developing a womanly figure. Even if she did want to be perfect for Aoshi-sama.

Just as the lady doctor ordered, she had been drinking milk every day. Actually, she had been drinking it several times a day, leaving the male occupants of the Aoiya to wonder where it was all going. Never mind that she hated the way it coated her tongue and usually upset her stomach. With Aoshi-sama home at last, it was less trouble than wandering up and down Japan, and she was grateful just to have him back.

Even if he never looked at her. Even if when he did look at her, all he saw was a little girl.

With a growl, Misao chased those gloomy thoughts from her head. The yukata which had previously shielded her from the cool night air dropped to the wooden floor with a quiet rumpling of cloth. Her usual long black braid was bound to her head in a neat coil, secured by a little wooden comb.

A huge, gray-green stoneware cup of yet more milk sat next to the tub, accompanied by a blue-bound book. It was something from Jiya's "personal library" which she'd lifted only hours before. She had been at her most stealthy then, definitely not wanting to be caught with such a thing.

The almost painfully hot water crept up to Misao's chin as she lowered herself into the tub. Flesh that had been cool and tight even in the steamy bathhouse air was suddenly elastic, every pore open and receptive to the almost suffocating moisture, seeming to swell already. This must be why Megumi told her to do those "massages" here. Turning pink from more than just the heat, Misao put that thought aside for the moment.

With a grimace, she downed half the tepid milk in one gulp, then reached for the book, careful to keep the edges from dragging in the water. The cover read Positions for Paradisein cracked, faded gold lettering. Misao had no idea what that meant, really. Did the position actually matter somehow?

Flipping through the first few pages, she nearly dropped the book. The picture's colors and details were lurid despite the yellowing of the paper that belied its age and the fine mist of the bathhouse. A woman reclined, neck supported by a wooden pillow. Her red and black kimono gaped open, contrasting with and showing off seemingly mountains of white flesh, no womanly detail of full breasts, round stomach, plump thighs, or high mound left to the imagination. She was being mounted by a man, whose impossibly huge phallus stopped just shy of entering her. Deep purple-tipped, it lurked like a spear, threatening to impale the seemingly helpless woman on its girth.

Swallowing hard, Misao thought back to what few penises she'd seen in person. They definitely weren't that big, though still big enough for doing that to seem problematic. She knew women younger than her pushed babies out through that same passage, so it had to be possible, even if it seemed really, well, scary.

On the next page, the woman lay on her stomach. Her breasts seemed unnaturally squashed beneath her, hips and rear jutting upwards at an angle. The man had mounted her from behind this time, and every detail of her vulva stretched around his enormous erect member was visible. Nearby, two very fluffy, lap-sized dogs mimicked the posture, the male dog's tongue dangling out, obscenely long and red. Mildly disgusted, Misao tossed the book aside and gulped the last of her milk.

She wanted to be an adult, to be respected and taken seriously. Moreover, she was sure she wanted to do these…things with Aoshi-sama. Yet the disconnect between what glimpses she'd had of sex and what she imagined, somehow knew, it must be like with him were two entirely different things.

Frowning, Misao looked down at her breasts. They bobbed innocently in the water with her breathing, blissfully unaware of her ire. With the usual binding gone, they were actually larger than the other women had realized when teasing her, each a pale amanatsu. To Misao, however, they were hopelessly small, maybe even deformed. With a grimace, she did the massage Megumi had prescribed for what seemed like the hundredth time. Keeping her palms flat and stiff against her nipples, she rubbed in a slow spiral motion, feeling the turgid flesh tighten.

She felt so awkward touching herself in such a place, no matter how clinical her intentions. She knew that breasts weren't a source of shame; it was how babies were fed, after all. Nevertheless, she bathed at such a late hour specifically to avoid having to deal with knowing looks or, worse, questions. She'd die for sure if Jiya knew she was doing this. Or…

Misao flushed pink in a way the hot bathwater alone couldn't produce. Somehow, her mind always wandered to Aoshi when she was massaging herself. It made a chore more pleasurable, imagining his hands in place of her own. Big hands, warm, rough in texture but gentle in touch, needing only a little of his vast strength to apply just the right pressure. As she massaged, she could all but feel lips ghosting over hers, his breath every bit as hot as his skin as he murmured her name…

"Misao."

This fantasy was unusually realistic, not that she was complaining. Misao sighed, squirming a little deeper into the still-warm water as her fingertips skimmed her nipples. Not part of the prescription, but it felt so good…

Somewhere nearby, a throat was cleared.

Misao's eyes snapped open, and only a hand suddenly pressed over her mouth muffled a scream. That same huge, warm, gentle hand she had been imagining touching her moments before.

Aoshi smothered his amusement with the greatest difficulty as Misao's wide, warm, deep blue-green eyes flickered to his face. He never ceased to be fascinated by the passion she infused into even the most primal emotions. He knew from her ki that she'd realized subconsciously it was him and that she was more shocked than afraid. He withdrew his hand, running his thumb across her lips in an almost imperceptible caress.

"Aoshi-sama! What…what…can't a girl even take a bath in peace?" She was sputtering, more flustered than angry. Sitting up, her breasts were mostly hidden beneath the water, and Aoshi diverted his eyes for the moment. He knelt beside the tub, plucking the discarded book from the floor. He noticed her eyes dart away when he discovered it. Not that it mattered, as he recognized one of Okina's books of shunga from well before she was born.

"It's the middle of the night." The unspoken chide was there. He'd woken up, not sensed her presence, and gone looking for her. Knowing that he cared despite his generally emotionless façade made Misao warm in a way the bathwater could never compete with.

"I needed to…uh…"

"Massage yourself?" Was he smirking, or was it an illusion of the steam? Misao could have died of humiliation right there. She wrapped her arms around herself, shielding her nudity from his view, and looked away.

Aoshi cleared his throat, and when he spoke, he sounded slightly awkward himself. "Misao, there's no shame in…touching yourself." He supposed no one had ever given her this lecture, and playing with her breasts after looking at erotic pictures was just the kind of bold behavior she would figure out all on her own. He really shouldn't be surprised. Nevertheless, Aoshi's cheekbones carried a slight flush as he struggled for the right words. "It's normal to want to feel pleasure even when you're alone."

"NO!" Her screech would have shattered glass. "No, no, it isn't that, it's…" His gaze was intense, searching, magnetic even in her peripheral vision, and Misao found her eyes irresistibly pulled to his.

"Then why were you rubbing your breasts?" Aoshi's voice was a silky drawl, tinged with amusement. Misao got the feeling he didn't disapprove of her actions, exactly.

"Well, uh, Megumi-sensei said it would make my breasts grow bigger."

"Really," he murmured. It wasn't really a question, more the culmination of his own observations. This Aoiya's kitchen being perpetually low on milk suddenly made more sense, at least.

Truthfully, he would have thought a doctor to be above such silly old wives' tales. Still, it didn't matter. After all, those old wives' tales had set them up perfectly for this moment. He cupped her cheek in his hand, turning her face towards him once more. Misao closed her eyes, refusing to look at him.

"I know I have the body of a child, and that's why you can't see me as a woman, so I wanted to…change…" Misao was startled by the warm pressure of his forehead against her own. His long lashes tickled her as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Misao." The way Aoshi said her name made her shudder with a wanting she didn't fully understand. His hands slid down her shoulders, his grasp strong but gentle on her arms, loosening her tight, protective hold on herself. For a few moments, she melted into the tender iron bands of his embrace on her, then gasped as she felt the warmth of his fingers sliding along her bosom.

It was exactly what she'd imagined and more, a billion times better now that it was real, alive with the electricity of his skin against her own. As she exhaled in a long, shaky breath, Misao's breasts filled his hands as though made for just that purpose. His powerful fingers cradled the gentle swells, weighing without judging, the slight roughness of every sword callus an effortless caress.

"Misao…" Aoshi's voice wasn't emotionless, but smoky, thick with a passion that she realized was no different than her own. "Your breasts are the perfect size."

With difficulty, Misao opened her eyes, needing to see to believe it was real. He sensed her intention, pulling back enough to watch her face. She was transfixed by the dark, stormy midnight of his eyes, only faintly touched with green. Her dumbfounded gaze dropped to Aoshi's mouth as he spoke, the sound reverberating like thunder in her ears.

"All of you is perfect to me, Misao." He leaned in close once more, his voice velvet in her ear, lips brushing over divinely sensitive skin. He was still fondling her, expertly teasing each already hard nipple into an even tighter peak with feather-light, purposeful touches.

"Never change." It was almost a sigh, ruffling a few strands of hair that had fallen loose. "And if you really think your breasts need to be massaged, come to me."