Disclaimer: I do not own Kamisama Hajimemashita or the direct quotes taken from it.

Home

This shouldn't be happening. It couldn't be happening. Yet she could do nothing, wanted to do nothing as his body edged closer, his breath fanning her cheek. Close. So close. She could feel his heartbeat against her chest, could smell the scent of him. All heat and musk, edged with just the slightest sweetness of the sake he so often imbibed. It was intoxicating. It was invigorating. It was purely Tomoe.

She turned her head, unable to face him, unable to stand the intensity of those dark eyes. He was beautiful. So beautiful. Yet feral. Wild. Like a beast untamed and still assured of his mastery. He looked at her as though he wanted to devour her. As though she were the only fruit in a long stretch of desert. Like something precious. Necessary.

"Hey," he bade, "look over here." She tried to ignore it. Tried to ignore the silkiness of voice, the heat of his tone. It stabbed at her, stirring at desires she was too fearful to name. Tomoe, her Tomoe, how often had she dreamed of this?

She felt it, his hands twining in her hair, a lover's caress. Then he was pulling, yanking, a sharp tug against her scalp, ornaments and pins tinkling to the floor. Even the violence of the action inflamed her. This, she reminded herself as he forced her gaze towards his, her eyes clamping shut, is not my Tomoe. No. This was the Tomoe of 500 years past. Hers and yet not hers. Not in the same way.

Not at all.

Yet she couldn't help herself. Those hands, that face─they were all the same. The same Tomoe. Her same love. How could she not shudder as his hand slipped between the lapels of her kimono, claws edging delicately to slide beneath her juban to touch the skin below? How could her breath not catch as his body caged hers, his knees brushing her legs?

I shouldn't be allowing this. She reminded herself, but there was no conviction. His breath stroked her skin, his lips rained kisses against her neck. Unwittingly, she felt her body relaxing against him, sensitive despite the poison. How she wished she could hold him! How she wished she could stroke through the smooth fabric of his kimono to the smoother skin beneath!

Tomoe! Tomoe! How she loved him!

Her neck angled upwards, her entire body lifting in invitation. His hands, those wicked, deft hands stroked her, pushing back the lapels of her clothes until they were gaping, and she felt his fingers brush against her chest, stopping inquiringly at the edge of her bra before circling a nipple. She bit back a cry, a half-whine escaping her lips.

It was too much. His bold administrations were undoing her.

She longed for him. Burned for him. Her Tomoe with his sweet smelling hair and exotic face. Even the feel of him, pressed against her thigh, hard though their many layers didn't frighten her. Perhaps, just maybe, she couldn't be afraid of Tomoe. No. She loved him too much.

His kisses edged her jaw, a sharp bite of teeth against her chin as he slid to her ear, his hair whispering invitingly against her skin. She wanted to wrap her hands in it, the thick fall of his hair. All silk and sweetness. She wondered, what sound would he make if she pulled it? If she pulled him as he had her and peppered him with kisses?

"Look at me" he crooned, and even that was a caress, sinking beneath her skin and swishing into the hollows like waves into indents in the sand. "Look at me" he repeated, pleadingly. "Yukiji."

Her heart stuttered, her eyes snapping open and her, breath catching in her throat as horror struck through her freezing the blood that seemed to run so hot only moments before. Yukiji. Her mind repeated. Yukiji! Tears threatened, her eyes burning with the ache that now suffused her chest.

"P-pl-e-ease," she stuttered, finding it hard to speak as her throat tightened and breath felt far behind. "Please", she repeated, turning her face again, and this time she could not stop the tears. Could not overcome the feeling of heartbreak. "D-don't look at me!" She whimpered.

Yukiji. She was not Yukiji. Could never be Yukiji. Whoever he held in his mind, it wasn't her. Whatever moment he recalled so fiercely was not hers. She was only a stand-in, soon to be forgotten in the annals of time. Dejection burned, a cold fire even more blistering than the passion preceding it and she wondered what memories with the true Yukiji would he create?

"…Right now..." she whispered brokenly, ashamed at her jealousy, "I look awful…" She shook her head violently, thrashing, the denial burning through her. "Don't look at me…" Her voice rose. Stronger.

She wanted to scream it. Shout it. The words burned in her throat. I am not Yukiji! Nanami! My name is Nanamii! But she could not say a word. This man, no, this demon who held her so tenderly, was not yet hers. He belonged to another, all too real in this current time. The events that had shaped him had not yet occurred.

"Please… Tomoe.." She whispered, voice cracking in despair, and she struggled to move her arms, overcome with shame. She could not bear to look at him. Could not bear to see what expression lay within. Was it sympathy? Love? For her? Yukiji? The woman he thought she was? Was it disgust for the weakness she showed?

As though hearing her plight, she felt him gather her up, bringing her gently to rest against his chest. " Don't…" his voice was hesitant, bare of all the cockiness it had moments ago. "Don't cry." He said, his hands now stroking her back. Soothingly, gently, like a mother─no─like a lover. "Don't cry" he pleaded, voice soft. "I feel insane when you cry." If anything the declaration made her cry harder, the tenderness, the feeling.

How gentle he was, resting his hand on her head! How comforting!

Crying, more silently now, she sniffed into his kimono, breathing in the delicate scent of incense perfuming the fabric. It was so painfully familiar when combined with the scent of him. She smiled weakly, snuggling against his shoulder. He smells like home, she thought. Suddenly, as though provoked by it, she became aware of the distant sound of rain, a reassuring pit-pat repeating into the night. It lulled her, enticing her to breathe to that same patter. Inhale. Exhale. Softly. Slowly. Until she felt herself carelessly tumbling into sleep.

In his arms, she was home.