When Kamiko first found out that her ex-husband had not only managed to find himself a committed relationship, but one with a physical god, of all people, naturally she had a lot of questions, one of which had been, "So how did this whole thing first happen, anyway? Did you flirt with him at work or did he ask you out for drinks, or something?"
Spirit hesitated for a second, then decided to fall back on something funny to distract her from that; a winning smile and a play on her old nickname for their boss would probably do the trick. "Well, let me put it this way: remember all those times you told me to go fuck a cactus?"
He didn't get any further than that before the lightest dope slap that Kami was capable of giving hit the back of his head. "Baka yarou, I didn't need to know details like that!"
He laughed, but the truth was, he wasn't exactly sure how to properly answer. One of the first things he had learned about his new relationship was that in many ways, it was the polar opposite of his last. He'd been all over Kami during every stage of their relationship (even if the gestures felt considerably emptier in the last few years of it than they had in the former), never missing an opportunity to drape his arms around her, play with her hair, run his lips up and down her neck, anything like that. And he certainly didn't love Shinigami any less than he had loved Kami, but not feeling the need to be constantly, openly affectionate in order to prove that love was a nice change, he had to admit.
Shinigami appeared to share the sentiment. The way he had grown to feel about his Death Scythe didn't change how they interacted with each other at work, or in each other's homes. And all for the best, anyway, Spirit had thought to himself once: it would be a little more difficult for him to kiss a hard wooden mask or hold a hand as big as his head. That wasn't any problem at all for either of them.
Especially since they more than made up for it after the sun went down.
On one such night, as he sat on the foot of Shinigami's bed (which was truly ridiculously big, in his opinion, especially for a being that didn't require much sleep to function, but who was he to complain?) and watched his partner undress, it occurred to Spirit that he had never seen the other's uncovered body in the daylight before, only illuminated by the weaker light of lamps and candles if they chose to have any light at all. But that didn't matter much to him, even in darkness like this: by now, he had practically memorized every last part of that divinely beautiful body.
His eyes ran up the long, slender legs hugged tightly by thin black fabric, over the smooth skin and lean muscles of the arms and torso (newly exposed as Shinigami shrugged off his cloak and let it pool at his bare feet), up to his already-unmasked face, and felt his heart begin to beat just a bit harder as he did. He thought that as long as he lived, he would never get tired of looking at that face: diamond-shaped and angular, framed by thick black and white hair that fell to just above his shoulders, with golden eyes that glowed softly in the dark like a cat's and thin lips that curved into a smile as his eyes locked with Spirit's.
"You look excited," he said, reverting to his original voice, as he cleared the short distance between himself and Spirit. He set one knee up on the bed beside the other's leg, placed one hand on each of the other man's equally bare shoulders, and gently pushed him down onto his back. "I take it you're ready, then?" he murmured, tracing the waistband of his partner's pants with one long finger, sending a shiver of excitement down his spine.
Spirit smiled. "Hell, yeah."