Today, there's nothing but the light breeze, the gently warming sunlight, the vicious chill burrowing through crisp, slightly wrinkled clothes and the pale, smooth skin underneath. Nothing but the sky, darkened though it won't be sundown for some hours. Nothing but waves clawing their way boldly to the shore, only to be dragged off once again in the throes of obediance. Shoes lie discarded some distance away from where the tide lasciviously grinds against the shore, and bare feet are embraced and surrounded by icy water. Somehow, the cold is more comforting than merely tolerable, and pushes away the haze of unwarranted idleness. He's been guest to Motochika's bed too many times, after all, and the settling complacency disturbs him. He slips away after the pirate falls asleep- if he falls asleep- to gather himself, usually.
He can hardly believe how far away from his resolve he has traveled. Once, he'd have gone to great lengths to tear out Chousokabe's throat; now he would trail desire and indulgence down the very length of that neck, and it would be so, so easy to destroy him, to rip him apart without resistance... but the thought never does cross his mind until all is said and done. He's let himself be led along, because he wants to feel the violent rush, and he wants to feel his life held in the hands of another.
In the hands of Motochika
It's in those moments that he feels safest, somehow. More in control. Those are the moments that he hates the other general with more fire than he can ever claim without. He loathes the way he can be made to feel so alive by someone he wishes dead. He despises the way he can be made to feel at ease with someone who threatens everything he's ever worked for. But he can't bring himself to decline, and the realization is both alarming and something he's known all along. He hasn't been able to say no ever since the first true ceasefire, in which they met to strategize against mutual threat and walked away without having lost anything at all; not since first their lips were wetted and their cups stained with the same liquor; not since they first broke mostly companionable silence to part ways for reasons other than regrouping.
Filthy, scheming thoughts slither and skitter across the backs of Motonari's eyelids as he wraps his arms loosely around his waist and tilts his head back, slowly, slowly, letting the sun sink into his surround. The pale, weak light that breaks though dark clouds in ambitious shafts holds his heart in check, burning through even the darkness in his mind. He allows himself to imagine, just for a moment, a lighter picture: that Motochika is with him now and embraces him, gentle arms holding him captive, a serene expression tracing Mouri's own gaze out to sea. His first reaction is one of disgust, but the more he forces himself to stand there- this is what he is inviting, after all, and he must accept it or cease it at once- the more he can almost feel it, taste it... it doesn't seem so bad.
After long moments of mental silence, his thoughts trained only on this, a rough wave slams against his shins, soaking his lower clothes and nearly knocking him over. His eyes snap open and he glares demeaningly at the water, already receding. He decides that he must make a choice, right now, on how to proceed. He won't be strung along by his enemy. Yes, that's what Motochika is. He is still an enemy, and if asked right this moment, he would continue to refuse Motonari a certain security- the one that separates their lands. He's following a dangerous path, and he knows it, but he just can't listen to reason- he's been given a taste of something he's been sorely lacking, and he won't relinquish his right to demand more.
And besides, he has plenty of reasons to continue, and not enough to resist. He can turn this to his favour yet. The shivers in his body demand to be put down like riots ravaging his skin, but he ignores their cries, focusing on the sharpness of the cold rather than his reaction to it- focusing on his current train of thought. He can snatch control of the sea right from under Motochika's nose if he just keeps this up a little longer... after all, unlike Motonari, the pirate has such a limited control of his emotions. If he plays along like a pretty little whore looking to get paid, then he will indeed receive his reward. He just has to remember- and remind himself time and time again- not to fall so naturally into the role that it becomes one of a genuine lover, gentle caresses and hearts dancing to some melody of lurid, affectionate ballad.
He won't be the one used in the end.