Dear Reader, I'm back with what will probably be the last installment in this story (who knows, I'm quite fickle, after all). "Pride" will return our characters to more familiar settings, and I hope you will enjoy. This first chapter just sort of sets the scene and recaps where they all stand at the moment. The action will start soon enough. Peace, TK
Chapter 1 The Sound of Thunder
"You're here today, no future fears.
This day will last a thousand years.
If you want it to."
Dawn is a Feeling
Justin Hayward
A storm was approaching.
The sounds of thunder echoed off the mountains to the north and rolled up the valley like slow moving waves; and in their rumbling progress, they contained the dichotic qualities of calm and threat, an aural balm both soothing and anticipatory.
Late summer storms on the mountain were nothing to be sneered at or shrugged off as insignificant. They were violent, aggressive things, bringing mudslides, fallen trees, and flooded mountain streams with them.
Yet, Yumichika welcomed such tempests with excited contentment.
In his bed, staring up into the suffused darkness – the night candles were almost burned out, indicating it was closer to morning than midnight – he listened with rapt attention. Judging from the fact that he could not see the lightning that preceded each peal, he determined the storm was still an hour away – perhaps two. That was good. It meant he had that much time to enjoy the prospect of encroaching power.
He felt a slight movement against his chest and smiled reflexively. Looking down, his gaze fell upon Ruri'iro Kujaku, stretched out asleep on top of him, his cheek resting warmly in the center of his chest. In the failing candlelight, the dark blue hair—still barely an inch long but already starting to show its curl and fullness—appeared black with the luster of onyx. There were still bare patches, but they were healing. His other injuries were less visible, for he wore a shift of white cotton—very sheer—that draped over his body in a way that Yumichika considered too enticing; yet, even as master, he'd not insisted on something a bit less revealing for his zanpakuto spirit, for the simple fact that Ruri'iro Kujaku had, after his fashion, wanted to wear nothing at all. Yumichika had managed to stand firm enough in asserting that it simply was not appropriate for him to show himself in such a manner in the presence of others. And so master and Atmen had come to a much debated compromise that the shift would suffice – for the time-being, at least.
He brushed his fingertips against Ruri'iro Kujaku's shoulder – a gesture that was met with words.
"I hear thunder." The peacock's voice was soft and expressive, like that of a child waking from a dream.
"A storm's coming," Yumichika replied quietly. "It's still a way's off, but it sounds like it's going to be a big one."
"I like big storms," Ruri'iro Kujaku stated.
"So do I," came the agreement.
"You know what I like? Peace and quiet so I can sleep."
This was Ikkaku's voice – an irritated growl.
Yumichika smiled unseen and chastised, "Grumpy."
"I have reason to be. Between the thunder and you two, how's a man supposed to get any sleep? You're a pair of hens."
Yumichika passed on the urge to make clucking sounds. Instead, he retorted good-naturedly, "I've suffered through your abominable snoring for centuries. Do you really want to make an issue of this?"
"I'd get a better night's sleep slinging a hammock between the trees," Ikkaku grumbled.
"Well, you're more than welcome to try your luck tonight," Yumichika poked. "I'll be glad to come wring you out in the morning . . . if you're not blown away by the wind."
Ikkaku cast a wry grin into the darkness.
"Wring you out . . . "
Maybe it was the late hour, but a certain bawdiness played with those words in his mind, and he decidedly liked the sound of it. Even though he knew very well that Yumichika, after the horrors and degradations he'd suffered in Gonow, had moved even further afield from the soul he'd once been, leaving behind the seductive and egotistical self-lover that had long been his most prominent personage, Ikkaku was not fooled for a moment into believing that Yumichika had completely abandoned his love of beauty and desire for attention.
The playful element in Yumichika's soul would allow for an occasional moment of coarseness or even—heaven forbid—vulgarity. That same element appreciated being appreciated. As long as the attention came from the right source, Yumichika would have no complaint.
And perhaps, Ikkaku grudgingly admitted in the silence of his own thoughts, Yumichika might one day retake the mantel of flamboyantly proud narcissist.
"That would beat wringing myself out," Ikkaku replied, hoping to elicit a reaction from his long-time companion.
Yumichika cast a wistful eye on him across the filmy indoor night between them. "You're so crass."
But it was Ruri'iro Kujaku who spoke next. "He hasn't changed at all, has he?"
Yumichika chuckled. "Very little."
The silence that followed was filled with meaning, if not words.
How difficult it had been since their return almost six weeks ago. Not that Ikkaku would ever admit it, but Yumichika could read what was left unspoken. Ikkaku had risked everything to save him, and now that they were back, safely installed once more in the cottage above Venla, they'd not had a single moment together in which to take comfort in each other.
It wasn't anyone's fault. They both knew that, and that was why neither could accuse the other of being unfair or unreasonable. Nor could they blame Ruri'iro Kujaku, for the peacock – an Atmen still gravely injured and vulnerable – could do nothing to improve his condition except endure the passage of time.
And it was necessary that Yumichika be fully devoted to him. As Ruri'iro Kujaku was unable to return to either his own or his master's inner world, Yumichika felt responsible for his protection. During the day, he looked after his wounds, helped him get up and move around a bit, and doted over him with pleasure. At night, he insisted they sleep in the same bed, never more than a touch away. And in those undefined moments teetering on the edge of sleep, he tried to grow accustomed to the idea that this helpless creature would not only return to his previous strength but surpass it . . . and what would happen then?
Yumichika was determined that he would be a proper master to him this time. He would show him the love he deserved, but also the discipline and firmness of hand necessary to preclude any sort of aberrant behavior or descent into wickedness, as had befallen others of the kujaku's choir.
All of which was caring and gallant and noble. All of which Ikkaku understood – albeit, with a degree of muffled frustration. But Ikkaku was an even better man than Yumichika had ever realized; for while it was clear that Ikkaku desired time with him, it was equally clear that he was ready to remain on the periphery as Yumichika focused his attention on Ruri'iro Kujaku. Still, the fact of Ikkaku's magnanimous spirit did little to allay Yumichika's yearning for him, his desire to be close and share even one small moment alone between them.
Only his love for Ruri'iro Kujaku made the waiting tolerable.
Ikkaku, on the other hand, waylaid his impatience by keeping company of his own. Hoozukimaru stayed manifest and close at hand most of the waking day – not an easy task, given the dragon's fixed desire to be with Ruri'iro Kujaku. At night, he returned to his zanpakuto form, snug at his master's side in the makeshift bed on the opposite side of the room from where Yumichika and Ruri'iro Kujaku slept.
The situation in the cottage was a somewhat awkward arrangement as far as Ikkaku was concerned, but it could not be helped. Not at the moment.
"Since you're awake," Yumichika posed, "Can I ask you something?"
Ikkaku snorted and harrumphed emphatically before squawking, "What?"
"Can you make sure I tied down the rain water barrels?"
Ikkaku sat up. "Are you kidding me? You want me to get out of bed and go see if you forgot to do what you were supposed to?"
Yumichika was sweet as sugar. "Yes, if you don't mind."
"No way," Ikkaku snapped, flopping back down in the bed and folding his arms tightly over his chest. "I'm tired and I'm going back to sleep."
"But if we have bad winds, they could get picked up and do some damage. You remember last time—"
"You do it."
"I would, but I'm . . . well, I'm a little bit burdened," Yumichika purred. "You can see that, can't you?"
"What? He's awake. He can get off you for five minutes, can't he?"
Yumichika pouted in the darkness. "You heard him, kimi. I need to get up."
Ruri'iro Kujaku complied, slowly and with a fair amount of wincing and groaning, but he did not protest or complain. He lay in the bed and watched as Yumichika pulled on a light-weight robe over his sleep garment.
"Hurry back to me," the peacock implored as Yumichika opened the door.
Ikkaku moaned. "He's not going any further than the corner of the cottage."
Yumichika defended his zanpakuto. "Leave him alone, Ikkaku. It's nice that he doesn't want me to be away from him."
"Oh, for the love of . . . " Ikkaku rolled out of bed with all the flourish and exasperation of a master actor. "Fine, I'll do it. You know, you two are made for each other."
The small tinge of jealousy that came through in Ikkaku's voice brought a smug grin to Yumichika's face as he retreated from the door. "Thank you, Ikkaku."
Ikkaku stepped out into the mountain night. He was immediately struck by the sight of lightning illuminating the distant clouds. A formidable electrical storm was headed their way. But ahead of it, the night was still calm and clear, and—while not balmy—a pleasantly warm alpine temperature – enough so that the air did not feel cool against the bare skin of his arms and chest. It was so comfortable, in fact, that even after he'd finished tying down the rain barrels, he decided to stay outside a bit longer and enjoy the spectacle of nature approaching.
The solitude also gave him the chance to think about things he'd tried to brush aside when in the presence of Yumichika and Ruri'iro Kujaku; for while they could not read his thoughts, he'd always entertained the fear that Yumichika, at least, could read in his face what was going on in his mind.
And what was going on in his mind at that moment would only cause unproductive concern.
Six weeks had passed since their return to Venla.
Six weeks.
The other personnel who had accompanied him to Gonow in search of Yumichika – members of the Gotei 13 – had all returned to their duties. Certainly, they had given their reports and accounts of what had happened.
And it stood to reason that the council members of Central 46 also now knew of all that had transpired.
Ruri'iro Kujaku's identity as an Atmen could no longer possibly be a secret; nor could his weakened condition. And while others might have feared the attempts by outsiders to manipulate the injured Atmen, Ikkaku's thoughts tended in a much different direction.
Central 46 had never given much quarter to those entities, singular or multitude, that had threatened their absolute stranglehold on power. The Atmen were things of the past, shunned and mistrusted until only a few souls remained cognizant of their continued existence. They'd been given free reign of a part of Soul Society no one else wanted; and now even that had come to an end.
The Central 46 knew of Kennah's demise. They must also know that Ruri'iro Kujaku was the sole remaining member of the Seventh Choir. And as such, he must surely be viewed as a threat to the security of Soul Society – or at least, a threat to the power of the governing body.
But was he a threat worth eliminating?
That was the question that haunted Ikkaku's thoughts, for he knew only too well now, that if Yumichika were to lose Ruri'iro Kujaku, he would never recover from it. Something had changed—for the better, Ikkaku had to admit—between Yumichika and the peacock. And Ikkaku knew that he had to make room for this new relationship if he hoped to keep both Yumichika and Ruri'iro Kujaku safe as they regained their strength.
But who was he keeping them safe from?
His father was still imprisoned in the Seireitei, hopefully providing endless hours of intrigue for Captain Kurotsuchi. The Atmen of Gonow were either defeated or safely under the control of their own masters. Heykibi had been killed by Hoozukimaru. No other fiends came immediately to mind.
It was the Central 46 that would not leave Ikkaku's conscience in peace. He could not even feel guilty for suspecting them. In fact, he was positive that he and Yumichika were under surveillance even now – perhaps not at that precise moment, but on a regular basis. Yamamoto had sent observers to keep an eye on them before Yumichika had been kidnapped. Given the latest developments, it stood to reason he was keeping an even closer eye on them now, with or without direction from Central 46.
Ikkaku could only hope that whoever was assigned to surveil them was friendly and would eventually make themselves known. Attempting to flush them out would be too burdensome, and Ikkaku already had his hands full.
A light-hearted smile found its way thoughtlessly into his expression.
Hands full? That's an understatement.
Although the search for Yumichika had taken only eight months, the state of the cottage and its environs upon their return had been deplorable. The winter during which they'd been absent had been brutal and left much damage to an uninhabited structure. Ikkaku spent most of the day working on repairing the place while Yumichika toiled away in the garden, pulling weeds and planting late crops – and all the while, looking after Ruri'iro Kujaku, whose healing process was agonizingly slow.
Or maybe it wasn't really that slow. It just seemed like it, given the amount of energy the peacock had to regain and the lack of knowledge of just how long it took an Atmen to get back to even a modicum of strength . . .
On more than one occasion, Ikkaku had insisted that Hoozukimaru make some of his own energy available to help speed up Ruri'iro Kujaku's recovery. But more often than not, both the dragon and the peacock – and even Yumichika – balked at this idea, saying that it was better for Ruri'iro Kujaku's energy to replenish on its own, rather than taking the energy of others.
"My energy has its own flavor, its own texture," the peacock had sniffed distastefully. "The basis of my strength should be my own reiatsu. Once I have enough, then I can take from others." He'd said this last sentence with a rather anticipatory lust that had reminded Ikkaku of the peacock of old – and the peacock as he would once more be as soon as he'd regained enough strength to exercise his unique form of power.
And once he regained that level of power, he would be unstoppable.
Except by Yumichika – and even then, only through reason and devotion, not through strength.
It was critical that their master-servant relationship be properly formed this time.
"Damn, how do I end up in situations like this?" Ikkaku growled out loud.
"Like what?"
Ikkaku startled at the sound of Yumichika's voice at the same time that he felt slender arms wrap around his waist from behind.
"Don't sneak up on me like that," he chastised. "You're lucky I didn't take your head off. What are you doing out here? I thought you couldn't bear to leave his side."
"Well, you've been out here a long time," Yumichika answered. "I was getting worried. How long does it take to tie down a couple rain barrels?"
"I haven't been long—"
"Almost thirty minutes," Yumichika countered. "That's a long time, even for you."
Ikkaku was surprised at how long he'd been absorbed in his own thoughts. "I didn't realize it."
"I thought maybe you were angry at me," Yumichika said, drawing him back to sit on the edge of the chopping block and then leaning down from behind to wrap his arms around his neck and shoulders.
"No, I wasn't angry," Ikkaku replied honestly. "I know this is how it has to be. We're, uh, we're dealing with a keg of dynamite."
"Are you talking about you and me or about Ruri'iro Kujaku?" Yumichika asked in a playful voice.
Ikkaku gave a one-sided smirk. "Ruri'iro Kujaku." A pause. "You and me . . . we're just the spark that's going to end up igniting him."
Yumichika turned Ikkaku's head to the side and met his lips in a tender kiss. "I don't think so."
"Then you're delusional," Ikkaku quipped, swinging his legs to the side and putting his hands on narrow width that was Yumichika's waist. "We both know what he is. It's only a matter of time before he gets his strength back, and when that happens . . . you can't afford to make him jealous."
Yumichika looked at him with a gentle, presupposing grin. "Jealous . . . of us." A pause. "Ikkaku, you and I have been together the entire time I've known Ruri'iro Kujaku. He's used to us being together, and besides . . . you and I have a . . . unique relationship. He knows that. Besides, he's changed a lot. So have I." He pressed forward with his hips in an inviting manner. "In time, he'll come to see that my love for him is completely different than my love for you; and he'll accept that. In fact, I think he'll be very . . . content with it."
"In time, maybe," Ikkaku replied. "But what about right now? It's . . . it's weird, Yumichika, looking over and seeing you lying in bed with him, and he . . . he's not a . . . he doesn't, uh, he doesn't hide what he is."
"He's a sensual being," Yumichika stated, as if the matter were that simple. "And I would never want to change that about him. I would never want him to hide that part of who he is." He cast a chastising look at Ikkaku. "Besides, he and I haven't done anything inappropriate. Give me some credit for modesty."
"Modesty?!" Ikkaku almost burst out laughing. "You two can't keep your hands off each other, and . . . and he—he's either lying all over you or kissing you or pulling you down on top of him. Do you think I don't notice that?"
Yumichika pulled him to his feet. "I think you're the one who's jealous."
Ikkaku didn't deny it, but he also did not sound angry as he replied. "I meant what I said, that it's weird to have you two carrying on right next to me; but what makes it so hard is that it reminds me of the fact that you and I haven't had any time together since we got back. Look, I understand how you feel about him. It took you damned long enough to figure it out. Maybe if you two just showed a little less . . . ah, fuck," he concluded, growing uncomfortable with the subject.
Yumichika was placid and honest. "Maybe I'm trying to make up for lost time with him. Normally, I would . . . reserve that kind of intimacy for my inner world, but he can't go there—"
"You don't need to tell me what goes on in your inner world—" Ikkaku interrupted, desperate to be spared any sordid details.
"So . . . why don't we focus on this world? On this moment?" With these words, he placed the palms of both hands against Ikkaku's bare chest and did something he'd not tried in decades, something he was not even sure he had the power to do anymore.
He drew upon his reiatsu.
Scant though it was, a tiny fleck of erotic warmth flowed through his skin and into Ikkaku's body.
The thrill showed on Ikkaku's face. "You . . . still have that ability?"
"It's taken me decades just to have enough energy for that one instant," Yumichika replied. A self-deprecating wisp of a smile crossed his lips. "I hope it had some of its former impact."
Ikkaku answered by wrapping his arms around him and taking him quickly to the ground, where there followed an intense exchange, borne of the separation they had both endured, not only at the hands of those who had ruled Gonow, but also of their own making – the careful paths they had both trod since leaving Venla the first time. The Seireitei, the Gotei 13 – so many things had conspired to tame their passion, while at the same time, preserving their love for each other. Now, it seemed that a moment of rapture was earned and long overdue. Neither man felt guilty for indulging in something that had long run as an undercurrent to their relationship.
The soft and doting accommodation of their previous encounters during what Ikkaku had aptly nicknamed 'the comfortable years' now gave way to something coarse and rough and greedy, teetering on the edge of ravishment but just barely maintained within boundaries long ago established. Both men knew the unspoken limits, and even in the throes of passion, respected them.
For nearly thirty minutes, they kept up the level of intensity, until a cool wind abruptly broke over them – the harbinger of the encroaching storm.
Ikkaku raised his head at the sound of the trees snapping back and forth. "The storm is about to break right on top of us," he warned.
Yumichika was not bothered. "Let it."
"We'll get soaked—"
"I don't care," came the definitive response. "It's been a long time since we've been together like this. I want to feel the way it felt in the orchard. Just a little while longer."
Ikkaku peered down at him. "You still remember that?"
"Of course, I do," Yumichika replied. "Don't you?"
"Of course," Ikkaku acknowledged. "But we're—we're not like that. That's not how our relationship is, and it's never been like that since then. Do you—do you want to go the edge again like that? I know how much that hurt you."
"It hurt me because you left the next day," Yumichika pointed out.
Ikkaku put his hand against Yumichika's flushed cheek. "No, it hurt because you wanted to go further. You thought I was rejecting you."
"I understand why you did it," Yumichika replied. "And I accepted it long ago."
Ikkaku eyed him with questioning eyes. "And . . . what about this time? Last time, I was the one who stopped. What if . . . what if I don't want to stop this time? What will you say? A lot of things have changed since then, Yumichika."
"Are you saying you want to have sex with me?" Yumichika asked bluntly.
Ikkaku threw his head back and groaned. "Enhh! You sure know how to kill a mood!"
"Well, do you?"
Ikkaku turned the question over in his mind. How could such a simple question be so difficult to answer?
Seeing his friend's dilemma, Yumichika turned the question around. "Or let me ask you this: what if I don't want to stop this time?"
Ikkaku pushed up on his knees and sat back on his heels. He regarded Yumichika with curious doubt. Clearly, the question was meant to spur his conscience, and it had done just that. Ikkaku knew only too well that whatever moments of desire might tempt him to abandon his restraint regarding Yumichika, he must never concede to those wants. The years of sublime companionship above Venla – and even most of their time in the Gotei 13 – had been nothing to scoff at, nothing to belittle. His bond with Yumichika had been one of love and devotion, interspersed with the occasional pang of lust—not surprising, given Yumichika's undeniable attractiveness. But romance formed no part of their relationship. The notion had never even managed to peek inside the door.
But Ikkaku would not complain, for he considered what he had with Yumichika to be so much more. He didn't need romance. He didn't need a continual shower of affection. And he didn't even need this moment of physical passion, pleasant though it was. No, he already knew that he possessed just enough of everything to be somewhere on the fringes of heaven. Yumichika provided just the right amount of physical contact, just the right amount of attention and mental stimulation, enjoyable contention, and even a healthy smattering of absurdity. And when Ikkaku thought of all the trials through which Yumichika had emerged relatively unscathed and ever optimistic, he counted himself among the most fortunate of souls; for where else was such a friend to be found?
How much of that resilience belonged to Ruri'iro Kujaku, Ikkaku did not know. But he felt confident that the peacock's own singular strength and energy had much to do with Yumichika's ability to overcome obstacles that would have been insurmountable for most other souls. It was a daunting thought to realize that he had to act wisely not only in the face of Yumichika's beauty and allure, but also in the presence of Ruri'iro Kujaku and all that the mercurial Atmen brought with him.
So far, things had gone smoothly since leaving Gonow. The temperamental peacock was too weak and dependent to make much fuss. True, he coveted Yumichika's time like a hoarder, but Ikkaku decided that was due to his helplessness, a situation to which he was not at all accustomed, although he seemed to relish the increased attention.
In fact, this was the first time Yumichika had been away from him for anything other than necessity. Given Yumichika's focus on Ruri'iro Kujaku, Ikkaku realized that what Yumichika was doing right now, taking the time to be with him—and in such an intimate manner—was his way of showing his long-time companion that he still loved him and valued whatever time they might find together.
Ikkaku was determined not to complicate things.
"That's not even a real question," he replied at last, then adding with a knowing grin, "I know you better than that."
Yumichika replied in kind, "And I know you better than you know yourself. Even if I wanted you to make love to me—"
Ikkaku grimaced at the choice of words – so sugary, so . . . not Ikkaku. "Yumichika."
"Don't interrupt," Yumichika scolded. "Even if I wanted you to make love to me," he emphasized the distasteful phrase, "I know you wouldn't. I know you understand." He sat up, face-to-face with Ikkaku, and put one arm around his neck. "But we can still have this, can't we?"
"It's exactly enough," Ikkaku answered. "Anything else wouldn't feel right."
The rain began to fall, sparse heavy droplets at first; but within seconds, it was as if the sky had ruptured and the water poured forth as if from a celestial spigot.
Ikkaku got one foot beneath him. "We should go inside—"
"No," Yumichika protested, pulling him close as he lay back in the wettening grass. "This feels right."
The thunder was right overhead now. The little cottage seemed to vibrate with every burst of sound. The wind was howling, the rain pounding against the wooden shutters and the thatched roof. Lightning made the night seem almost as day.
Ruri'iro Kujaku sat up in the bed. "Master?" His voice was nearly drowned out by the sounds of the storm. "Master?!" He looked over to see Madarame's bed empty as well.
'They must both be outside.' From what Ruri'iro Kujaku could hear and see, this was not a storm to be going about in.
"Master!" He raised his voice, but still no answer.
There was nothing for it, then. He would have to get up and go see if he could find him. He might still be frail and recovering, but he could manage a bit of exertion, as long as he didn't have to go far. He got to his feet and still dressed in nothing but the flimsy night shift, he started for the door; but just as his fingers closed around the handle, a reddish flash of light filled the cottage, and a moment later, he felt a gentle yet powerful grip on the scruff of his neck, pulling him back several steps from the door.
"Enh-heh, and where do you think you're going, featherhead?"
Ruri'iro Kujaku squirmed free of the grasping fingers and turned to face his inquisitor with a carefully calculated expression of utterly fabricated meekness and genuine concern.
"My master is out there—" he began plaintively.
"Yeah, and mine, too. Trust me, they're both fine."
Ruri'iro Kujaku was not convinced. "You don't know that."
"Yes, I do. You may not be able to see through your master's eyes anymore, but I can sure as hell still see through mine when he's this close . . . and he's right outside the door . . . well, a few steps off the path. Believe me, they're both safe."
"Then why don't they come in?" Ruri'iro Kujaku flustered, trying once more to get to the door.
Hoozukimaru stopped him in the same manner as the first time. "Because they're busy."
"Busy?! It's a torrent outside, there's lightning everywhere! They could get hit by a falling tree or—or—"
"Stop fretting," the dragon chastised. "They'll get a little wet and muddy, that's all."
"Well, what are they doing? Can't it wait until the rain is over?" The Azure Peacock tried to shrug off the pincer hold on his neck, but to no avail.
"No, I don't think it can."
In true dramatic fashion, Ruri'iro Kujaku flung himself back against Hoozukimaru's chest. "Unh! Don't tell me they're—they're engaging in—in—"
"They're not," Hoozukimaru stated flatly. "They're just enjoying some time alone together – without us. They need that, you know?"
"Yes, yes, I know," Ruri'iro admitted. "But what about me? I need my master, too."
"He's with you almost every minute of every day," the dragon pointed out. "Don't be selfish. Besides, I'm with you."
Ruri'iro Kujaku craned his head back and rubbed his cheek against the massive bulk of one furred arm. "Yes, that's true. You're with me. I wish you wouldn't go back into sword form."
Hoozukimaru's smile looked more like a snarl. "It's what my master asks of me, and I do it. It's called obedience. Something you need to work on, remember?"
"Hmph! I don't have much choice at the moment."
Hoozukimaru chuckled. "You may be powerless right now, but you're still the same old featherhead."
"What do you—"
"That's a good thing," Hoozukimaru cut him off before his indignance could fully be expressed. "I loved what you were. And what you are – even if you are being a pest and getting on my nerves."
"You love me because I created you," Ruri'iro Kujaku teased.
"We're not going to talk about that right now," Hoozukimaru deferred. "I never should have told you about that."
"But I think it's a good—" His voice cut off abruptly as Hoozukimaru lifted him awkwardly over his shoulder, carried him the few steps to the bed, then dumped him gracelessly onto the futon.
"Scoot over," he demanded, dropping down and throwing his hip out to clear some room.
"Hey! This bed isn't big enough for both of us!" Ruri'iro Kujaku protested half-heartedly.
"That just means we'll have to sleep close together," the dragon replied, taking the disheveled bird in his arms.
Ruri'iro Kujaku immediately settled into the embrace. "If you insist." A pause. "But if you ever call me featherhead again, I'll shave off all your fur when you're asleep."
Hoozikumaru closed his eyes and smiled. "Sorry . . . Flashy."
