Heartbeat, a rurouni kenshin fanfic

Heartbeat

A RuroKen Fanfic

Aoshi/Misao- Jinchuu arc- taking place on the night of chapter 208 "The End of a Dream"

Rated M for Sexual content.

"That's a lie." Misao's blue eyes widened at the sight of the memorial shrine. The slow drift of the incense smoke meandered as the boy's words sank in.

"That's Kaoru," Yahiko intoned in reference to the small table.

She turned her gaze to the battered boy his nerves on edge from his multiple injuries. For being so young and having already been through so much, Misao was proud to call Myojin Yahiko a friend. But as he started to degrade into despair, Misao knew she had to stamp it out. There was still work to do, still the request Kaoru left in her hands.

The diary Misao retrieved from the temple was wrapped carefully in her bag. Kaoru's hope to save Kenshin from his brother-in-law's misguided fury was sitting right there, within arm's reach. And yet, everything seemed too far away.

Kenshin was moping in some slum, Kaoru was killed, and no one knew where Enishi was hiding.

Everything was so frustrating it made Misao want to tear her hair out.

She settled for landing a solid blow to the damned downturned head of the boy. Ignoring any freshly opened wounds, Misao yelled at him.

"Stop complaining! Saying things like that won't accomplish anything!"

When he riled up to retort, Misao barreled over Yahiko's words.

"There's something to do now!" She slammed the diary of Yukishio Tomoe before the stunned boy. Explaining to Yahiko about Kaoru's request to deliver it to Tokyo, Misao let her anger drive her forward. It was the last thing to do for Kaoru. To do everything in their power to resolve the problem between Kenshin and Enishi.

All the while, through her rantings, Aoshi stood silently, leaning against the wall as he witnessed the spitfire ninja ramble about putting Enishi's head as an offering to Kaoru's grave, or not, because that goes directly against the Kamiya Kashin Ryuu's beliefs.

"I'll help too. First, we gotta find that white-haired bast—what?" Misao cut herself off.

Aoshi felt a wave of unease as Yahiko and Misao quickly degraded from a compliment to an insult. Something was unsettling to him. As the Okashira of a secret organization heavily dependent on information, Aoshi felt an acute gap in the data available at the present. He needed to know more. Something about the death of Kamiya Kaoru unsettled him.

And then there was the matter of Misao.

"My cheerfulness is a personal strength!" She had said with a cute smile and a wink.

How much practice had she already gone through? How often did she smile and joke to cover her tears? How often?

And it was all his fault. Aoshi's fault in abandoning her without a goodbye, without any contact, without coming home. How much did he hurt her so she could put on a cheerful mask in the knowledge that her friend died?

Yahiko left them in front of their rooms with plans to see Kenshin the next day. Aoshi entered his room and changed out of his dusty travel clothes and donned a clean yukata.

The summer breeze was light and the wind chime barely tinkled. As he settled down for meditation, Aoshi heard the slide of the shoji doors beside his room and the soft padding of feet entering the garden.

There was no way for Aoshi to know what Misao was thinking, but he knew of loss. But it was less about the death of his loyal men and more about the little girl he left in the middle of the night without telling her goodbye. In the darkness of the night, Aoshi could almost see the past; a young Misao sleeping haphazardly on her futon as Okina attempted to rouse her. After several failed attempts to wake the slumbering girl, Aoshi and his men left for their mission in Tokyo.

That night had weighed heavily on his mind and he thought of it often, though he never did anything to reach out to the girl over the years. Much to the chagrin of the others.

Misao had never given up on him, but Aoshi knew from her quiet sobs, that the clear confrontation of Kamiya Kaoru's death was a reopening of the old wound of silent abandonment. That Aoshi had caused her first experience pulled at his gut.

Slowly opening his eyes, Aoshi moved on instinct alone. If he thought about it, he was sure he would logic his way into inaction. Again.

Sliding he door open to reveal Misao huddled on the edge of the well cover, Aoshi moved with purpose. Giving Misao no time to attempt to hide her tears, he knelt, his knees sliding between her feet, and pulled her into an embrace.

She was sure to hear the hammering of his heartbeat with her ear planted on his chest; feel it, most definitely. He could be the coolest glacier in the middle of a burning inferno, if it were a physical battle. But, here, with emotions, Aoshi would consider himself in a panic.

His arms tightened around the girl in his embrace. He didn't know how to make her feel better, didn't know what to say, but he knew, selfishly, that he wanted to be near her.

Running a hand from her back up to her neck, Aoshi trailed warmth wherever he touched. On his second pass, he felt Misao relax, letting his body support her sagging form. Her tears slowed, but had already left patches of dampness on the collar of his yukata. With a sniff, Misao settled even further into the warmth he offered.

An insatiable ache filled Aoshi's chest and he pulled Misao closer, as if she could reach inside his chest to relieve his pain.

The more he held her, the more he wanted to touch, to explore, to know her body better than she herself knew. Beneath his hands, tight, firm muscles lay beneath soft, supple skin. Where he touched her bare skin of her arms and legs, he could feel the natural heat of her body emanating off of her in waves. Through her clothes, he felt the infinite arsenal of weaponry she managed to conceal on her petite form.

His hand slid down her back, over her hip, over the edge of her shorts, and found a resting place just under her knee. There, he took up a deliberate motion of sweeping his thumb back and forth, methodically, over the soft indent he found.

Having lulled her into a meditative trance, Aoshi heard Misao's breathing turn into a series of sighs, felt the warmth of her pants across his neck, and could see her relaxing. A cloud moved across the moon, lightly obscuring the clarity he could observe her, but Aoshi didn't need light to know the soft curves of her face, how her eyelashes fluttered as she looked down, or how her lips pursed when things weren't going her way.

And suddenly, Aoshi was thinking of something completely different that included lips. He wondered if she would be angry, but found that it would be okay either way.

Shifting swiftly, Aoshi pulled away, catching Misao's jaw with the hand not engaged at the soft junction of her leg. He saw the flash of surprise fly through her eyes at her sudden displacement, but then he saw nothing else when he closed his eyes as he pressed his lips to hers.

The softness that met him was like nothing he could describe. And it was addicting. Angling downward, Aoshi anchored Misao by the back of her neck, attempting to give her support as he maneuvered across her lips. He felt the soft skin as unresponsive and he mentally grit his teeth. He had made a fool of himself. Now, instead of comforting Misao, he probably scared her. And even though all he wanted to do was ravish her with more kisses, Aoshi forced himself away.

Slowly, with great reluctance, Aoshi lessened his pressure, his lips still on hers, but without the power behind it. With one, expedient, argument with himself about morals and virtues, Aoshi started to pull his head back to a safe distance.

But the whine that escaped Misao's lips froze his movements. A whine of loss.

And then warmth engulfed him. Her lips moved the hairbreadth it needed to reconnect with his. Her hands bloomed across his jaws, up his cheeks, so her fingers could burrow into his hair. He didn't mind as she gripped his hair in her tight grasp, because he was focused on the taste of her mouth. She panted straight into him and he drank them in. They shifted, attacked and parried with their lips and then tongues. Misao clumsily kissed back with little grace, but she made up for it in fervor.

Aoshi managed a chuckle before he captured her bottom lip between his and gave it a hard suck, letting his tongue graze across it. A satisfied moan and the tugging of his hair confirmed her approval and Aoshi was more than happy to oblige.

Gone were his insecuritites of his past, how he had left her for the war or his determination at redemption in his pursuit of the title of "The Strongest." Because of how Misao treated him, from when he nearly murdered Okina in front of her eyes, to when he followed Kenshin away from Shishio Makoto's inferno, to now; lips melding against him in a harmony he never even dared to dream.

As Misaos tongue shyly traced his lips, Aoshi wasn't sure who was comforting whom anymore. He was sure he had set out to comfort her in her grieving, but somehow, she had turned it around to make it feel like she was reassuring him. Something in the way she held his face, with a soft ferocity that told him he didn't need to run, or feel ashamed about being there, that she did indeed want him, the way he was, without any excuses.

Their kisses dragged heavily on their lungs and finally, with much reluctance, they pulled away enough to stare at each other. Wide eyed with astonishment at the new experience, Misao broke out into a grin. Not her usual, perky grin of mischief, but a soft smile that formed without her noticing. Her eyes relaxed and she let her gaze flow over Aoshi's face as if it were the first time she was really able to see him.

A jolt shot straight through Aoshi when he saw the slight upturn of her lips. Like a flower blooming, slow, but in the end, beautiful and well worth the wait. He wanted to protect that smile. Somehow, he knew it before he saw it.

Knew that the smile she had, just there, the real one, not elaborated, was what he fought to protect.

That fateful knight, when he faced Himura Kenshin a second time, Aoshi was forced to accept a horrible truth. That he, in his desperate attempt at obtaining glory for the Oniwabanshuu, ended up sullying their honor, and forced an unnecessary power upon Misao. That he, who was coolheaded and logical about everything, had lost sight of reason and became an unrecognizable murderer who Kenshin refused to fight honestly. All because he was no longer the Shinomori Aoshi to be sent home to Misao.

To believe he had become someone unworthy of Misao's affections hurt him more than any blade. The taunts and ugly truths Kenshin forced upon him that night continued to resonate within him, driving him into a better life each day.

And now, to be able to receive such a smile from Misao was an accomplishment even greater than obtaining the title of "The Strongest."

Damned if he ever lost it.

Unable to help himself, Aoshi dipped down and pressed feather light kisses over her temple and across her jaw. Undaunted by Misao's unresponsiveness, as she was still panting to regain her breath, he glided along, grazing his lips over the curve of her ear, down to the pulse of her neck. The pulse of her lifeforce was melodic in its, slightly hastened, beat, but it continued, strongly and unwavering any further as he began to suckle the soft skin at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He wasn't even aware that he had pulled open the collar of her shirt, and yet it was in his hand, exposing more area for him to bathe in his attention.

With purposeful and powerful motions, Aoshi stroked his tongue in the dip he found above her collarbone. His grip tightened when he felt Misao sign and her legs clenched around his waist. As he escalated to gripping her with his teeth and sucking long pulls of her, Misao wrapped her arms and legs around him, tugging herself more tightly to him and nearly pulling herself from her perch.

Surprised, Aoshi stopped his actions.

"No," Misao panted, "don't stop, Aoshi-sama."

Her plea undid him and in one swift movement, Aoshi secured Misao in his arms and lifted her as he stood and stormed back to his room. Haphazardly kicking the sandals from his feet, Aoshi stepped up to the porch and into his room, barely remembering to slide the door shut before depositing Misao on the floor.

Landing gracefully from years of training and fighting, Misao watched as Aoshi went to the corner of the room to retrieve the previously unnecessary futon. With a powerful pull, Aoshi ignored the blanket that fell askew, he pulled the padding from the stack to lay it down in front of the staring girl.

Without warning, Aoshi drove his hands into Misao's clothing, searching with more friction than necessary to disarm the ninja girl of her weapons. Her stockpile of kunai were piled a safe distance away before Aoshi grappled Misao to the bedding. For good measure, Aoshi also sacrificed the time to remove her shoes and socks, flinging them to join her knives. Refraining from kissing her, he stared intently as he slid his hands beneath her to grip the ends of her obi bow.

Asking with his eyes, Misao responded by raising her hips to arch her back. Deftly, Aoshi undid the knot and pulled away the pink fabric. Heaving breaths and gravity split the opening of Misao's top and Aoshi took in the sight of her tightly bound breasts and the smooth, muscular plane of her abdomen.

Reaching out, Aoshi's fingers brushed along the edge of her skin, skimming along and sometimes just letting their warmth resonate off each other. He traced from the edge of her shorts to circle around her belly button. When he reached the peak of her covered breast he saw the arch shift so she received more contact.

An agonizing groan left her lips and Misao couldn't be still any longer. Surging up, she grabbed the front of Aoshi's clothes and pulled herself into his chest. Her legs found purchase above his hips and she ground her pelvis against his stomach. Another louder moan echoed and Aoshi quickly stifled it with a kiss.

"Shh, Misao," he whispered against her mouth, their lips lingering, "you'll wake everyone."

"Then you better not stop kissing me," Misao barely got out before reattaching their lips in a more fervent manner. Her fisted hands pulled and tugged until Aoshi's chest stood bare. Then she occupied herself with running her hands intensely over the scar ridden skin.

The sensation prickled, not only where she touched, but in all places. Aoshi knew his member was pushing at the fabric between them and when she rolled her hips to rub herself, he knew she could feel him too. That she didn't balk at the sensation made him even harder and soon he was rolling his hips into her to match her rhythm.

Her moans were stifled, but still not quiet. But Aoshi didn't really care if they woke anyone anymore. They were in their own world and he could still kill anyone without weapons. Or clothes.

As Misao's hands traveled further down to where her hips were grinding into him, Aoshi's hands finally found the end to the band of fabric that was barricading him from her breasts. With the loosening of the fabric, Misao let out a different sigh as her curves returned to their natural fall.

Larger than he was lead to believe, Aoshi took the soft weight into his hands and massaged them. Suddenly, their kiss ended and Misao threw back her head, pushing her chest even more into Aoshi's attentive hands. Her body surged with energy as he kneaded her and her hips dropped down, her legs finding a lower place to grip.

Rubbing herself against his engorged member, Misao felt herself getting wet from the friction. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do; everything felt so good. Aoshi's hands on her body, his breath still on her lips. And something inside her felt both enormous and tight at the same time. Thrusting herself along his shaft, she could feel him continuing to push against her, but it wasn't close enough. If she leaned back, she could increase the contact of her apex, but it would mean sacrificing the powerful hands at her chest.

She took the sacrifice and flung herself back onto the futon, her pelvis pressed even closer, making up for the loss of his caressing fingers.

And then her hips were moving again and she angrily bemoaned the disappearance of the pressure between her legs.

"Put it back." She whined, pleading with voice and eyes up as Aoshi loomed over her. The smirk he wore should have concerned her, but she was busy trying to recapture him with her legs.

"Patience, dearest." Aoshi murmured into her ear as he moved to the side.

Misao grumbled, still lamenting the loss, but was surprised into silence at his next movement. The simple tie of her shorts barely impeded Aoshi as he bypassed it to tug the shorts down. Her hips moved automatically to ease the efforts as Aoshi watched in awe; Aoshi wasted no time in moving his hands, from where they were discarding the last of her clothing, to the juncture of her legs.

Long, slim fingers slipped and slid over the slickness found there and he teased with quick tugs on the set of curls that were already saturated with her arousal. Expecting to get even noisier, Aoshi moved his head to rest on hers, his breath mingling with hers. With increasing pressure, he stroked the length of Misao's slit, rubbing fervently without breaching into her.

Short huffs of silent air passed her lips, causing Aoshi to focus on her facial expression. Her eyes were dilated, but hazy, as if she were looking through him, through the ceiling, and into the void darkness of the night. Her flushed cheeks and panting breaths indicated her acute recognition to her physical situation and Aoshi swelled with satisfaction that he had introduced her to the sensation. Swelled so much that his yukata had a hard time maintaining his modesty.

As if she could tell he was thinking of his own release, Misao flailed a hand about, not completely in control of her movements while Aoshi continued to tease her clit, but finally managed to tug his yukata open, leaving his member to be unhindered in its unfurled glory. Not knowing what position to take, Misao continued to lie on her back with Aoshi sitting, almost comically proper, at her side.

Turning her head to look down Aoshi's body, she took in the sharp, chiseled chest, riddled with scars, over the simple belt tied around his waist, bisecting his exposed skin, then to the enlarged member casting a shadow from its erect profile. The veins lacing up the shaft drew Misao's attention and the next thing she knew, Aoshi was hissing air through his teeth, as she traced one with the pad of her finger.

Worried that he would stop his fingers, Misao paused, her finger still over the throbbing vein. Rather than stopping, Aoshi added a second digit to her and increase his tempo.

Reacting to his fervor, Misao's finger slipped, and they fell into a pattern of reacting to each other. Bucking hips and slipping fingers worked both of them into a sweat. Their kissing resumed and they moved in unison, the pace of their fingers, tongues, and heartbeats aligned.

When Aoshi finally slid a finger into Misao's tight folds, she gasped, clenching his member in both surprise and unexpected pain. She muffled her cry against Aoshi's neck and she clung to him as she tried to accept the invasion.

"No," she whimpered as Aoshi tried to slide his finger out of her, "just wait a moment."

He could feel her walls clenching his knuckle, trying to relax. With his free hand, Aoshi brushed away the damp hair from Misao's face and purred reassuring sounds in her ear. She relaxed in steps until she discovered how to exercise her muscles around the inserted finger to bring ecstasy to her body. Aoshi gave her mere moments to herself before he began to pulse inside her. To feel all of her was better than he could imagine. To have her wriggling beneath him, moaning for him to go faster set him on edge.

No one, nothing, would ever harm Misao again, Aoshi pledged as her walls convulsed against him. She was his to protect. His to worship and to love. He would see life in this peaceful era because he wanted Misao to be at peace.

Well, it wouldn't be war time anyway, Aoshi gave a harsh wiggle to increase her orgasm. Not every day had to be perfectly peaceful. A little release wouldn't damage the Meiji era.

As Misao continued to hump his hand, hers renewed its attention to his penis with great enthusiasm. Strong, slender fingers gripped, glided, teased, petted, and pulsed from all angles. She ran her finger along his tip to draw out his own fluids, which she shamelessly rubbed over his darkened skin.

Crashing after her convulsions ebbed, Misao fell completely lax, all strength and muscle control extinguished from her body. Her legs, knees propped up, fell lackadaisically, to the side, hitting the mat audibly. Her grip on him slackened and slipped into his lap, her arm now unable to support its raised position. Aoshi refrained from sighing at the loss. He satisfied himself by taking in the sight of the exhausted girl below him who couldn't even focus her eyes.

With his finger still deeply embedded in her, Aoshi could feel the slick, thick, cum she produced, and how, with each breath she took, the fluids slid down to her entrance. Slowly, as not to startle her, Aoshi removed his finger, glistening even in the shoji screen filtered moonlight.

Gaining enough power, Misao turned her head and focused her gaze on Aoshi, just as he raised his hand to lick her juices from his fingers and hand. Her eyes widened as much as they could in her lethargy and she could sense the gush of liquid from her sore folds.

Once satisfied that his hand was thoroughly cleansed, Aoshi eased to lie beside Misao, pulling her into the cradle of his arms where he found the perfect pattern to trace along her back.

"Are you okay, Misao?" Aoshi murmured into her hair.

"Mmh," she nodded, already gaining her faculties back, "I'm fine, Aoshi-sama."

She snuggled into his chest and twined her legs through his, effectively locking herself in an unbreakable embrace. Her fingers traced a lattice work of scars across his body an Aoshi felt her frown.

"What's wrong?"

"Why did you let so many attacks injure you?"

If he could still laugh, he would have. Instead, he frowned at her words.

"It was never my intention to be injured."

"Good. Keep it that way." Misao sighed into his chest. "I don't want to lose you."

'Again.' She added mentally, knowing that she didn't have to say it aloud for him to hear it in her words.

The increased pressure she felt on her back as he hugged her tighter was all Misao needed to know that he didn't, and wouldn't, intend on leaving again.

"Well, now," Misao pulled back, tossing her hair out of her face, "we've settle that. Now it's time to settle something else. You've helped me, it's time I returned the favor."

Sliding through Aoshi's arms like a shadow, she slipped down to his waist. Shedding his obi, Misao drew all clothing away from them to gain full, unhindered access to Aoshi's body. With shy beginnings and helpful guidance from the man writhing beneath her, Misao enjoyed the experience as Aoshi did the pleasure.

Later in the wee hours of the morning, after more teasing and heavy handed explorations, Aoshi and Misao laid contentedly together in a cooled embrace of lazy touches and relaxed fondling. Misao dozed, content in her state, her fingers still unconsciously petting the smooth ridges of Aoshi's skin. And Aoshi, his body too taxed to respond heartily, merely enjoyed the petting as he heard Misao's breathing and felt her heartbeat against his own.

Damned if he ever let her go again.

In the early morning darkness, his mind returned to the matter at hand and he began to formulate a plan on how to prove Kamiya Kaoru was still alive. Shinomori Aoshi refused to have his Misao suffer any longer.

Pressing a kiss to her lips, Aoshi slept, a dreamless, peaceful sleep, in the arms of the woman he loved.