Sunlight pooled in between the wooden columns, liquid and molten in its intensity. The sky outside was deepening to dark blue as the sun fell toward the mountains, staining the surrounding clouds in purples and pinks and oranges. The leaves in the trees rustled in the warm pre-summer breeze, whispering secrets to those who cared to wait and listen, dancing among the streamers outside the temple and prompting the wind chimes to sing with clear bell-like tones. The dark hardwood floor was mostly bare save for a single artfully woven mat that rested to the rear of the building, underneath a square block with candles glowing around the perimeter of its surface. Above, an intricately painted scroll hung on the wall. All around the room, braziers holding covered candles glowed, and to the east and south stood earthen-toned vases with delicate cherry blossoms growing toward the ceiling. Otherwise, the room was empty, save for one person seated cross-legged before the simple altar.

He was absolutely still, eyes closed; only the slight movement of his chest betrayed life. The candles around him pulsed with a steady flame, amplifying the sense of calm that radiated from him. White hair rustled in the breeze that plucked at the hems of the deep forest-green kimono he wore. A fine garment, it was - not a plain-toned solid green, but tiny almost imperceptible shifts and flecks of dark green. The edges of the sleeves, collar, and obi were embroidered with pale silver, startlingly bright against the deep color surrounding them. Thin hands rested in his lap, pale and long-fingered. In front of him, a long-stemmed ceremonial pipe stood on a spindly frame, a wisp of pale fragrant smoke coiling lazily to the ceiling.

The steady song of the chimes outside halted, for several heartbeats, then resumed their song - more melancholy than before, but with a brighter melody haunting underneath. The pale man's eyes opened slowly, revealing steel-grey eyes, piercing and hawk-like in their intensity. Freckled hands shifted to clasp together, but otherwise he remained still, watching the entrance with steady patience.

A man appeared at the door, long purple ponytail fluttering in the breeze like the long-ribboned banners outside. He was tall and moved with the confidence of a man with his mind set on a goal. His clothes were that of a samurai - finely crafted bronze armor juxtaposed against fine pale cloth. Gold earrings gleamed with the light of the setting sun, rivaled only by the fire in those fierce determined golden eyes. He paused, carefully toeing off his sandals, before padding silently in front of the pale-haired man.

Until now, the green-robed priest had watched him without comment, but as the samurai slowly knelt before him he picked up the pipe with one slender hand and brought it to his lips. His eyes closed again as the samurai's hand brushed against his freckled cheek before he exhaled, smoke rising from his lips in a manner reminiscent of a dragon's breath. The corner of his mouth twitched. "It has been a while, my lord."

Strong hands lifted his pale thin one and lips were pressed softly to the back of his fingers. "Too long, my love." Gold eyes glimmered at him as the samurai settled on the floor in front of him. The priest watched as he flipped his ponytail to the side, studying the long feathers braided throughout.

Silver eyes dropped to where their hands were joined, fingers intertwining. His thumb brushed against a thin ring that he knew, without looking, was a twin to the one resting on the hand loosely supporting the pipe. "Did you have any trouble, this time?"

"No. The bandits have been wary of late, although if that bodes ill or well, I cannot say." The samurai carefully removed his hand and pulled his katanas away from his sash, placing them beside him almost reverently. Straightening, he watched as the priest gently reached out and took hold of his arm, nimble fingers unfastening the clasps to his gauntlet. "The recent storms caused the bridge to collapse along the river, but luckily no one was hurt. I aided the villagers in repairing it." He held his other arm out.

"And still, you call no other your master. Such an odd choice for any man; especially for one who calls himself samurai." The gauntlets laid aside, the smaller man's robes rustled as he rose to his feet to soundlessly glide along the floor. Bare, thin feet peaked out from the edges of the hem that trailed along the floor as he knelt and began picking at the clasps of the armor at the samurai's back. The purple-haired man pulled his ponytail out of the way, then turned and reached out to cradle the other's cheek in his hand again.

"You know I will serve the people, not some pompous self-serving lord," he said, stroking his thumb over tiny freckles. The other snorted, gaze shuttered, and moved to work on the clasps at the other shoulder. "Besides, I do not need to serve to be able to protect."

"You could have been one of those 'feudal lords' you so disdain, and you could have protected the people in that way too," was the cool rejoinder, the heavy armor finally falling away to be placed next to the gauntlets. "And you are certainly not one to be corrupted as they tend to be."

"It was my choice to leave," the samurai replied, watching as the priest settled back before him and picked up his pipe again. "And it was my choice to be samurai. What I protect, I will do so with my own two hands."

A sigh mingled with another coiling cloud of fragrant smoke. Heavy-lidded eyes blinked at him. "So stubborn, my lord. Stubborn, and overconfident, and foolish... yet true to you and your principles, true to what you are." A slow smile. "Admirable, as always."

The samurai chuckled. "That's who I am. Anyway, if I deviated, you'd set me back on the proper path, wouldn't you?" His eyes tracked the slow spin of the pipe between slender fingers.

The priest's gaze wandered away. "Mm. Just as you keep pulling me back together, eh?" A few flower blossoms tumbled across the room though the fading sunlight. "Still, I wonder why that is."

"What do you mean?" The samurai crossed his arms.

"You know. Some things are broken beyond the point of repair." Deftly, the smaller man plucked a blossom from the floor before the breeze stole it again and held it before his lips.

A larger hand covered his. "And you know the answer to that." Their eyes met again. "I don't believe damage is irreversible. Broken doesn't mean lost..." he pushed their hands to hover over the other's heart. "And I will always be there to put you back together."

Silence crept back - not an uncomfortable one, but thoughtful, peaceful, somber. Their hands drifted back down, still interconnected, and the pipe's soft smoke swirled across the floor. Then the samurai spoke. "Any visitors?"

The priest didn't immediately reply, instead bringing the pipe to his lips. Then, "Three. Earlier in the week, a mother and a little girl, come to pray for the safe return of her husband." He placed the flower blossom beside him. "Two days ago, a young man. A traveler."

The samurai waited, but the other didn't continue. Understanding dawned on his face. "He had a wish, didn't he?"

"Yes." The priest flexed his wrist. "His lover was sick, and he was... journeying for a remedy." His eyes unfocused, his fine features set in an unreadable mask. "The price... heavy, as the illness was incurable. Still, it was one he was willing to pay."

The samurai let out a low breath. "You'd better not have shared the burden of the price," he said, voice low. "Your powers take enough as it is, without you being kindhearted."

"An ironic speech, coming from you." A green-clothed shoulder lifted in a shrug. "But no, I did not."

"The price?"

The other shook his head. "That, I will not say. It was... something private." A frown. "But his lover will be well. They will be happy." A crooked smile.

The samurai looked at him steadily, a flicker of exasperation and fondness flashing over his features. "Like us, eh?"

"Hm." Silence fell again.

The samurai reached out again, this time pushing at the fabric over the priest's shoulder. When the other looked at him sharply, he returned the stare steadily. "Let me see."

With a sigh, the smaller man set down his pipe on its ornate stand, batting the other's hand away. Then he pushed aside the fabric, wiggling his arm free and letting the soft silk pool down to his waist, leaving the other arm still clothed. The gold-eyed samurai closed his eyes, then shuffled closer and let his fingers brush softly over the pale freckled skin and dark ink. A tattoo. Tribal-like, in its design - thin lines that interlocked, smooth and flowing, interrupted only by a red ribbon spiraling down the length of his arm. Serpent-like, curling up his side and stomach and looping down around his shoulder, terminating around his upper arm. Claws seemed to stretch, as though a creature were reaching down from his elbow. The strong fingers hovered over the last part. "This is new."

"It appeared last night." The other looked away, then jumped as the samurai bent his head to brush a kiss to that tattooed shoulder.

Those lips were soft and warm, and when the samurai lifted his head, it was to lean his forehead against the other, eyes warm and fond. "I will fix this, you know," he breathed. "I will not let some silly curse take you away."

The white-haired priest couldn't help the shiver that ran down his side, nor the vulnerable look that crept into his eyes. The firm hand on his chin would not let him look away. Instead, he sighed shakily and closed his eyes. "Is that your wish, my lord?"

A whisper beside him. "You already know what I want." Warm lips traced the shell of his ear. "I already have it." Steady hands trailed down his sides. "And what do you want, my wishmaker, my sweetheart?"

Their eyes met again. "Dance with me." A quiet murmur, barely audible over the clinking of wind chimes outside. The sunlight had faded, letting the candles to pulse and fill the room with their faint, warm light.

Warm hands pulled him up, coming to rest just above his hips, fingers caressing smooth skin on one side, toying with the obi sash on the other, cradling him like something precious. The priest lifted his hands, reaching up to drift around the other's neck. The samurai was a head taller, but he bent his head to kiss the other's forehead, then nuzzled the priest's face until it was tilted up to his. Silver eyes opened a sliver, gazing into his. "Say my name, love."

The priest's breath caught, each lost in the other's eyes. They had begun to move unconsciously, slowing spinning, feet padding across the smooth polished floor. "My lord," he murmured."

"Say my name, my Ja'far." Lips touched his. "I want to hear you say it."

"My Sinbad..."

As they danced, a single feather floated to the floor, drifting to a rest beside a single white blossom and a pipe that coiled soft smoke lazily to the ceiling amidst the song of quiet wind chimes.