Author Note:

My keyboard (to my laptop, so no quick fix) is struggling. To be specific, the d (ALT-100), Backspace, Enter/Return, and quotes/apostrophe keys have stopped working. It;s been that kind of summer. I apologize for the major delays on updating and new stories.

This story is written for taiyakiboy of tumblr, as a thank you for Ikesen art requests. The art for this story features chibi Masamune with an arm hooked around chibi Mitsuhide.

I didn;t end up with the planned short romp (drabble). There are elements of it, but it;s a little more serious than that - at least in places.

Summary:
Behind the scenes with Masamune and Mitsuhide. They're both perceptive, they tend to understand each other better than most, and they're both intrigued by the same woman. Thoughts, scenes, and conversations that *might have been* in the original story. Rated M for one passage featuring sexual themes / behaviour (moderately explicit). Strongly implied Masamune-Chatelaine.

I hope youll enjoy the story - I will come back to Masamune at some point and write something fluffier!

~ Imp

The Dragon and The Kitsune

"How is she today?" They'd been watching the foot soldiers drill, but Mitsuhide had deftly slid the question into their conversation about new recruits and training techniques.

Usually too wily a dragon to be caught off-guard by such tactics, Masamune had found himself answering the question. That in itself told him a lot about his preoccupation with the new chatelaine-seamstress of Azuchi Castle. She was obviously getting to him, even if he wasn't quite sure why.

"She's fine, as far as I know. She's still avoiding me."

"Oh? I wonder why she would do that?"

If Mitsunari had asked the question, it would have indicated sincere confusion. Mitsuhide was an entirely different matter. They'd been friends for a few years now—if friends was the right term—and Masamune knew every twitch of those mobile brows, and every nuance of that persuasive, sometimes amused, often sarcastic voice. Mitsuhide already knew, or guessed, the answer to the question. After all, Masamune had chosen to talk to Mitsuhide about what had happened during Sanada Yukimura's escape, and the lass' strange behaviour and reactions.

Others would question his choice of confidante, no doubt, but Masamune preferred Mitsuhide's sly truths and omissions to the polite lies of others. He was a fox—though the townsfolk used the term kitsune in the superstitious, quasi-malicious sense—and it took work to follow his quicksilver mind and slippery words. That said, he saw things for what they were, and Masamune respected that.

"…Are we friends, Mitsuhide?" He was changing the topic, but now that the question had occurred to him, he was curious.

For once, the man appeared to be caught off guard. His unusual golden eyes widened perceptibly, and his pale eyebrows arched.

"What an odd question, especially from you."

Masamune recognized temporizing when he heard it, but Mitsuhide was right. It was unusual for him to want to go beneath the surface of a relationship. After all, as he'd recently told their lovely chatelaine, in these troubled times, people changed sides, allies became enemies overnight, and regardless, death walked with you every step of the way—you never knew who you would lose, or when. Or how. Sometimes it would be your own doing.

"I think we're friends," he told Mitsuhide firmly. "Nobunaga keeps his own counsel about why and how far he trusts you, but despite the way you try to trick me into drinking sake at every reasonable opportunity, I think we understand and value each other. That's good enough for me."

"What a fey mood you're in! Honestly, Masamune, you warm my shrivelled heart with your words."

"Sounds like it needs watering, not warming! And don't worry, I don't expect a real answer out of you."

"…Well, that's good. I was beginning to think I should check you for a fever or something. Though I suppose that friends is as good a description as any. You're far more perceptive than you appear, which is irritating at times, but the fact that you're virtually impervious to barbs and sarcasm is occasionally something of a relief. I admire strength, and respect openness—in others, of course."

Masamune let the words roll off him, listening instead for the undercurrent that told him that Mitsuhide also perceived this relationship of equals that they had, and appreciated it. Masamune was among the very few who noticed things about Mitsuhide the person. For one thing, he'd learned a lot over the course of his long—and so far, losing—battle to feed the man decently. Moreover, Mitsuhide didn't intimidate him with his apparently all-knowing cynicism, nor did Masamune exasperate Mitsuhide with his so-called recklessness. For as long as they weren't enemies, they would most likely look out for each other, if not always in the most obvious ways. He wondered whether the lass would consider them friends, and wasn't sure.

"She doesn't know what to make of us, Masamune," Mitsuhide told him, his characteristic, razor-edged smile back in place. He had a bad habit of answering unspoken questions.

"…No, not yet, but she wants to. Sometimes she runs away, or tries not to look, but I think she truly wants to know what makes us tick."

"I know. But do you want to try to understand her? You said you did, but I'm not convinced."

He probably hadn't tried hard enough, Masamune acknowledged silently. The woman's views were just so impossible—so wrong-headed, from the point of view of survival. And yet… A hand clapped him lightly on the shoulder.

"Enough brooding, Masamune! It sits poorly on you. For whatever it's worth, I think you've found an interesting woman for once."

He ignored the implication about the very ordinary nature of his past dalliances. "Interesting? Yes, but frustrating! She'll get herself killed for nothing!"

"And you'll mourn her passing, acknowledge her courage, and then move on, right Dragon?"

Masamune stared at his pale-haired probably-friend. "Yes, of course." Was that a note of uncertainty in his own voice?

"You just don't want her to die in a wasteful, ignorant kind of way, correct? Her death in and of itself is not—cannot be—of particular concern." Mitsuhide assumed an understanding expression that didn't deceive his companion for a minute; Masamune knew damn well that he was being prodded unmercifully, although toward what end wasn't clear to him. He decided that he wasn't in the mood to either counter—or simply ignore—Mitsuhide's loaded comments.

"I don't want anybody to die except my enemies," he snapped, realizing at once that his uncharacteristic ill-temper was bound to amuse Mitsuhide even further. To his surprise, the expected jibe didn't come. Instead, Mitsuhide seemed thoughtful.

"She is an odd woman, our chatelaine. She gets frightened, but that often drives her to fierce action. She's naïve to an unbelievable degree, but not stupid. She's ignorant of the strangest things, and then—did you hear that she immediately recognized Nobunaga's short rifle—his new gun? I found that odd, given that none of the rest of us had seen such a thing before."

Masamune smirked at him. "Well, there's no secret to that, is there? I'm told that she said from the start that she was from five hundred years in the future."

Mitsuhide regarded him thoughtfully. "You heard about that, did you? And believed it? I thought I was the only one who had given it any real consideration."

"After she claimed it for the truth to my face—"

"So you drew on her, did you?"

"—I saw no reason to doubt her, and besides, why not go with it? But just because I believe her doesn't mean I understand her. A unified, peaceful country—well, that's a dream many of us share. But she's lived it, and it's given her expectations of the world that make no sense in the here and now."

"Poor Dragon. She won't adapt and let go of her ideals, and if she doesn't adapt then she may die."

It was as simple as that; Mitsuhide was right. But why did he care? So, she wouldn't share his bed, and she wouldn't kiss him again. Well, there were others, even if they weren't as interesting. He felt Mitsuhide's eyes on him and forced a shrug.

"Point is, I don't like it when people don't do the best they can with what they've got. There's no good reason for her to keep acting the way she does. Facts are facts, and she needs to get a grip and start living in the present—not the future."

"Says the man who won't compromise his ideals for anything, beginning with his own life."

There was a longish silence after that, and Masamune saw the bridge to the castle up ahead with something like relief. Still, in justice to the lass he had to add one last thing:

"She does have ideals, and rules—too damn many of them, to be honest! But she acts on what she believes to be right, I have to give her that."

"Indeed. The lady is nothing if not stubborn verging on reckless—a little like somebody else I know. I believe Ieyasu has already commented on the resemblance." Mitsuhide paused before parting from Masamune. "She's very attractive, isn't she?" he noted, almost conversationally. "Not just pretty—or even beautiful—but something more. I doubt you'll find your usual playmates as enticing as they once were." The golden eyes gleamed. "Is cute and willing still enough for you, I wonder?"

Masamune wondered too, as Mitsuhide strode away. It wouldn't be the same, that was certain. He hadn't meant anything by their kiss by the lake—or no more than genuine, friendly interest. But it had been a surprisingly exciting kiss, and most of the women he'd known were considerably more—he searched for the right word—passive in comparison. There was nothing passive about the lass. He felt heat rise unbidden and unexpected in his cheeks and neck; felt the sharp excitement of desire as muscles tightened in his abdomen and lower still. He couldn't make the commitment she seemed to think was necessary before sharing a bed—another of her rules!—but she was attracted to him, and they enjoyed each other's company. Or they had, before the run-in with Sanada and the ninja. Well, he still liked her—enough to want to fix things between them, and despite the way she had protected her ninja friend at the cost of who-knew how many Oda lives on the battlefield later.

Would she ever welcome his touch again? That was the question. He could tell that he'd shocked her badly, but he'd only been doing what duty and honour required of him. His people depended on him, and he owed it to them not to falter, regardless of personal cost. Sanada Yukimura and one of Takeda's—or Uesugi's—ninja! He should never have let them escape.

But you did. I wonder why? That's what Mitsuhide had never asked directly, but was no doubt thinking. Masamune had no clear answer, and it troubled him. What had stopped him from simply going through the lass to get to his enemies? And why was he so bothered that she now shunned his touch?

The maidservant who had brought him water and towels before the war council had been more than happy to be flattered and cuddled. She'd blushed a little when he'd kissed her, but hadn't been unduly timid. Masamune didn't take advantage of innocents, nor did he persist in attentions that weren't welcome. For one thing, it would be a contemptible use of power, and he took such things seriously. For another, it wasn't necessary. There were willing lovers enough in Azuchi, and if some were more attracted by status or coin than by lust, then so be it.

Unfortunately, Mitsuhide was right, as usual. The brief interlude with the maid had left him dissatisfied in a way that he couldn't identify, but keenly felt. When the young woman had paused at the door and fleetingly met his eyes, before respectfully bowing herself out, he'd registered the unspoken invitation, but had felt no inclination to accept. He couldn't ignore the fact that desire for Azuchi Castle's unusual chatelaine had somehow displaced his easy acceptance of more readily attainable pleasure. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and one he'd thought relegated to his mid-teens, when he'd learned the hard way that preference always came second to duty, so that it was best not to tie one's happiness to any particular lover.

Unsettled in mind, and frustrated in body, he'd attended that evening's war council and done his best to throw himself into preparations for the upcoming clash with the Uesugi-Takeda forces. That had been reasonably successful, since the danger was both real and imminent, and the prospects exciting. And yet… he missed the lass' smile, and the way that her eyes would scan the room looking for him whenever she was ordered to join them before Nobunaga.

"I'd offer you sake, but you wouldn't accept," Mitsuhide told him after the meeting, the mild humour in his voice not reflected in his sharp eyes. "Perhaps the lass has bewitched you?"

"Damn right I wouldn't accept!" Masamune glared at his friend for a moment and then banished his temper with an effort. Another early, hard-learned lesson was how to rein himself in at need—which would likely surprise the majority of the Oda forces. Of course, Masamune defined "need" differently than most. At the same time, Mitsuhide was rarely surprised by anything—that he showed—and that went double for Nobunaga, who had been keeping an eye on the Date clan for years.

"Witchery it is, then," murmured Mitsuhide.

"You would know," Masamune replied, with a mischievous grin. In a thoughtful voice belied by the sparkle in his one blue eye, he added, "And not just about enchantments, either, kitsune—I'm not so sure that your own interest in the lass is as innocent as you'd have me think."

The half-lidded golden eyes shifted to his face for an instant, but otherwise the other man was his usual self.

"My interest in people is rarely innocent, Masamune—you know that."

"Say what you like," Masamune told him blithely. "It won't change my opinion."

Mitsuhide shrugged gracefully. "Very little does, Dragon. That's part of your problem."

They parted ways on that note, and Masamune's improved mood seemed to evaporate. He worked late on paperwork—both for his distant, north-eastern fief, and concerning the coming war—and then flung himself into bed, exhausted. His mind strayed to that moment by the lake, when he had kissed her, and she had undeniably, unreservedly, kissed him back. The image was overlaid by the angry, scared, loathing look she had given him after the matter of Sanada Yukimura and the unknown ninja, but lust overtook and banished it, to his sleepy relief.

Her lips parted for him, and he twined his tongue in hers, before kissing her ever more deeply. Her eyes were mostly closed, and her cheeks were flushed. The soft sounds she was making were as beautiful and arousing as she was. He could feel her soft breasts under him, as he pressed closer, tasting and exploring each part of her mouth, indifferent to wet clothes. Perhaps tonight… They were too exposed here, as pleasant as this was. He could tell that she would mind if they were found, and besides, he found himself oddly possessive of the way she looked just now.

Time passed in a blur, which was unusual, since it tended to crawl along when he was looking forward to something. Ieyasu had insisted on having the lass ride with him back to the castle, and while his stated reason—that she would be warmer with him—made sense, Masamune had known there was more to it than that. But the man had brought his sword and his horse, and his concern had been evident. Besides, Ieyasu wasn't a true rival for the lass' affections. Not that he discounted the lad, but the young contrarian was too late.

She laughed at his attempt to disguise her voice, when he finally had time to stop by her room. They both laughed… And then—and then? She looked just as lovely in the lantern-light as she had under the bright sun, but he could sense hesitation. No... that couldn't be right. Fortunately, when he drew her into his arms, pulling her slim curves tight against his body, she'd relaxed, and smiled up at him.

He caressed the dip of her waist and then the roundness of her hip, and first nuzzled, and then nipped at her left ear. Her reaction was immediate, and gratifying. Her soft moan as his teeth and tongue moved down the smooth column of her throat, biting and teasing, stirred the same, heated arousal in him as he'd felt by the lake, but this time there was no reason to hold back. Her skin was hot, and her breathing shallow; it was clear that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He wound one hand in her pretty hair and slid the other down her back and over her ass. She reciprocated by twisting against him and then dragging his mouth onto hers.

By the time he bore her down onto her futon, he'd stripped her of her obi and kimono, so that only the thin under-kimono still hung around her shoulders. She'd managed to remove most of his clothing as well, and their sweat-dampened skin clung together. Now that he lay above her, he could feel how wet she was and how ready… Their bruised lips met again, and then he shifted lower, so that he could kiss and suckle the taught nipples of her breasts, and stroke the slick folds between her legs. She gasped his name, and her fingers tightened in his hair. He loved the way that she showed him all of her—not just her body, but her unambiguous reactions to his touch, and her passion… He must have imagined the earlier hesitation.

He'd meant to bring her to the very edge of bliss well before reaching his own limit, but that was suddenly, unaccountably, beyond his control. He found himself grinding his stiff cock hard against her, and her face blurred as he lost focus and realized that he was about to come, and couldn't stop. Even through the shuddering pleasure of release, even as his hot seed spurted and spilled from him, he knew… he knew… he was...

He was alone. Alone in his futon, and alone in the dark of his own room, sweating from heat, and sticky and flushed from still-vivid, if ephemeral passion. The thrumming pulse of climax was instantly dimmed by a rush of the old panic, the one that he did his best to hide from everyone, even himself whenever possible. Breathing hard, he battled his beleaguered mind and body into submission, reminding himself again and again that he hadn't killed the lass—no matter how tactically unsound the decision—reminding himself that she was alive, and warm, and breathing, even if she wasn't here with him now.

It took a long time to master himself completely—to gain enough perspective to shake his head ruefully over the dream, and to shove his nightmare back under lock and key. The first wasn't so bad—such dreams happened, and there was nothing surprising about this one, despite its intensity. He would shed any lingering embarrassment over it soon enough, having decided long ago not to be embarrassed about giving or receiving—or feeling—pleasure. The nightmare was a different matter, and it wasn't until near dawn that he was able to overcome the fear that she was dead and cold and gone for good. He knew the probable cause for these occasional fits of mad panic, but the past was the past, and both duty and inclination led him to focus on the future.

What he needed now was a short bath, fresh clothes, and the chance to get out and do something productive. And food, of course. By the time the sun crested the horizon, Masamune was on his way to the castle to tell Nobunaga that he was off to inspect the scout force—mostly his own men—stationed in the forest directly between Azuchi and the Uesugi-Takeda.

When Mitsuhide heard from Nobunaga that Masamune had left 'on a whim'—Hideyoshi's words, of course—he wasn't surprised. Interestingly, their dear chatelaine seemed rather relieved by Masamune's absence; however, careful observation suggested that she was in no way over the man, merely shaken and unsure what to do next.

After a little thought, Mitsuhide decided to try to nudge matters along himself, should a suitable opportunity arise. For one thing, it would be moderately entertaining. For another, the woman hadn't managed a proper smile in days, and that was starting to weigh heavily on the more susceptible of the Oda commanders. Hideyoshi's stress was reaching new highs, Ieyasu was being even more disagreeable than usual, and Mitsunari had unaccountably—and wholly inadvertently—made drinkable tea for everyone during the most recent war council. It was inevitable that, in the confusion, much of it had ended up on Ieyasu, who had stalked off in uncontrolled disgust.

In any event, when word came back two days later that Masamune and his scouts had been involved in a skirmish with the enemy, and needed extra hands to tend the wounded, Mitsuhide had ignored or overridden her protests, and all but ordered Azuchi's chatelaine to go to their aid. She hadn't been happy about it, but she'd yielded to persuasion (and carefully applied guilt) and gone. Hideyoshi had lost his temper when he'd found out, but by then it couldn't be helped, and Nobunaga had merely looked thoughtfully at Mitsuhide before ordering the war council to resume. If enemy forces—even advance scouts—were so close to Azuchi, then Uesugi Kenshin and Takeda Shingen were about to get serious.

"Not knowing Kennyo's location is going to be a problem," murmured Mitsunari, his expression more sombre than usual.

"We're close," Mitsuhide replied. It was the simple truth. While he couldn't pinpoint the place exactly, it wouldn't be long. Mitsunari was correct about the danger, however. If they couldn't find and crush Kennyo before leaving for the main conflict, they'd most likely have to split their forces.

Before Mitsunari could become flustered by the thought of having implied some sort of negligence on Mitsuhide's part, Nobunaga leaned forward, and all eyes turned to him.

"Will you find him in time, Mitsuhide?" The deep voice held no anxiety. Whatever the answer, Oda Nobunaga would plan accordingly.

Mitsuhide responded with equal calm: "We'll find him before we face the Uesugi-Takeda. It is not yet certain that we'll find him in time to crush his forces and still have our full army ready for the more difficult battle."

"I see."

The council concluded late, and Mitsuhide returned to his meticulous search for the missing monk. However, despite all that was going on, he found his thoughts returning to Masamune and the woman they both considered 'interesting'. Would the Dragon make another effort to understand her? Would she give him the chance to do so? Mitsuhide turned a mocking smile on himself. It would have been easier to contemplate had he truly felt the detachment that he feigned.

[END]

A/Note:

I will have to write more another time! My plans to go onto the happy (eventual) resolution, at least from Masamune's point of view, got put on hold by the wonky keyboard etc. Still, I hope you enjoyed this peek behind the strictly canonical scenes. :) Comments/reviews are always welcome and appreciated! If you see an error (typo or whatever), please send me a message through any of FFnet, AO3, or tumblr (Impracticaldemon). Thank you for reading!