They stood together, silently watching the city lights illuminating the encroaching darkness on the other side of the window pane. The stillness was only broken by the constant patter of the rain falling outside and the rumble of thunder in the distance. When had it started raining again? The change in weather had gone by unnoticed. The whisper-soft kiss Nakago had given her had long since ended, but tenderness had been the last thing she had expected from him…and she was still reeling from the discovery of how fully capable of it he was. How much time had passed? Miaka wasn't sure and didn't really care. All she knew was that sometime within that eternity between her tearful confession and this moment, her life had been irrevocably changed. She molded her body to his by sliding her arms around his waist and standing as close to him as she could, for as long as possible…
Not that he seemed to be in any hurry to pull away.
The peace which blanketed her soul just barely hid a deep, fierce exhilaration. It was something she had not felt for a very long time and she committed the moment to memory, wanting to remember every detail, every feeling…wishing that it would last forever. Demo…there'll be many other moments like this one, she thought optimistically, Many more wonderful memories to be made…All of which she would hold close to her heart. The warmth of his body lulled her senses, as she rested her head comfortably against his chest. Worn out from her search efforts earlier as well as by the recent overwhelming tide of emotions, she was drowsy and almost asleep; but perfectly content to stay on her feet, leaning into his strength, listening to the reassuring sound of his heartbeat.
Nicholas looked down at the top of her head, and was once again reminded just how very slight her build was compared to him. Was that why he felt a powerful sense of protectiveness towards her which he'd never felt for any other woman? He thought back to the time before he had gotten to know her; when they had still been enemies, before that whole mess with Tenkou…What were the odds that he would see her as anything other than an annoyance? A million to one. What had been the odds of him actually caring about the Suzaku no Miko as more than a friend? Astronomical, almost beyond the realm of conceivable probability, he concluded wryly. But emotions—volatile at best, unreliable at the very least—and life, which could never be counted on to be predictable had intervened…and now, amazingly, he found himself loving her. For the person that she was and who she would surely become; for the fire in her eyes, the forgiveness in her heart…and the courage in her soul.
Their closeness enabled him to feel each breath she took, and he frowned slightly when he felt her attempting to stifle a yawn. Struggling to keep awake as if she was afraid that he would disappear if she fell asleep, she literally drooped with exhaustion. Nicholas was reasonably certain that a gentle breeze would be enough to push her over if she hadn't been leaning against him. He was reluctant to move, unwilling to disturb the fragile peace they had both found…but she badly needed to rest.
Carefully disengaging himself, he ignored the inexplicable twinge of loss he felt the instant he stepped away from her. She swayed alarmingly on her feet, deprived of the support his body had provided. It was clear that there was no way she was going to be able to make it all the way back home…or stand on her own, for that matter. Arriving at a swift decision, he lifted her before she toppled over and made his way towards the shadowed doorway of the bedroom. Except for a faint squeak of surprise, she did not protest; a true testimony to how tired she really was…she never allowed anyone to carry her without making a fuss, unless she was injured or unconscious. Or both. It occurred to him that he had carried her over the threshold of his apartment and now, he was carrying her to bed…he almost smiled at the stray thought as he carefully set her down on the mattress. Not that there was any chance of her being violated in his bed tonight. As it was, neither of them were in any condition to do anything other than sleep, much less engage in an activity as…strenuous as THAT. Furthermore, proper behaviour dictated that he was going to have to spend the night on the couch, even if he did happen to be in his own house. He turned to leave the room, but stilled when slender fingers weakly circled around his wrist.
"Nakago…please stay…onegai?" Her expressive eyes looked huge in the dimness of the room, silently pleading with him. They spoke on her behalf, conveying the words she was too proud to allow past her lips.
Had it been anyone else, he would have suspected an ill-concealed—even clumsy—attempt at seduction. The complex games men and women played were not new to his experience. He was no saint, and had even participated in a few of them himself. Many of the women he had known had honed their seductive skills to a fine art. They could smile, flirt and feign vulnerability, but the Suzaku no Miko—Miaka…did not have such worldly experience nor would she ever play such coy, shallow games. No, one look into her eyes told him that her simple request stemmed from a deep emotional need and that this was extremely important to her although her pride would never let her admit it. She detested the fact that she appeared weak; at the same time, she was terrified of being left alone. She still needed assurance that he would not vanish during the night and leave her behind, but she refused beg or insist that he stay by her side.
A curiously warm feeling settled around his heart. Proper behaviour and convention be damned. He had never been one to play strictly by the rules anyway. Besides, it would not be the first night they had spent in the same bed…just the first time they would share the same sleeping space by choice.
A day of many firsts indeed…
Holding her gaze, he slowly lowered his weight onto the bed and she immediately shifted her body so that she could maintain physical contact with him. Being alone had never bothered him, but tonight, it was strangely pleasing to feel her warm presence, and he finally admitted to himself that he needed this as much as she did. Miaka let out a small sigh of contentment, murmuring his name before letting her eyelids slide shut. Within minutes, she was fast asleep, her breathing settling into a deep, regular pattern.
He took the opportunity to study her, to really look at her in detail, from the silky tangle of wavy russet hair spread across the pillow to her delicate ankles and tiny feet. There were dark smudges under her eyes, as if she had not slept in a long while. Had she suffered from sleeplessness as he had over the past few weeks, tormented by endless nightmares? And there was no denying the fact that she was far thinner than he remembered, so much so that he could practically see every single one of her ribs and vertebrae under the thin material of the shirt. All in all, she was little more than a small bundle of smooth milky-white skin stretched taut over fragile bones. Nicholas swore silently and fluently in four different languages when he realised that every fall she had taken earlier could have fractured an untold number of bones. It had been nothing short of a miracle that she had escaped serious injury…the girl, it seemed, possessed the devil's own luck.
He could have spared her all that pain...but he had been too self-absorbed; too intent on making choices for the both of them, to notice how she felt. The truth was bitter in his mind, and he reflexively began to clench his fists before he stopped himself, making a conscious effort to keep his muscles relaxed in case he woke her. Assume nothing, he reprimanded himself grimly…he had forsaken the one cardinal rule he had held above all others; the one that made certain never to underestimate an opponent.
Nicholas was well aware that he'dno doubt played a leading role in more than a few of her less pleasant dreams. Their acquaintance had definitely not gotten off on the most auspicious of beginnings, since he would have fatally wounded her if the Suzaku monk had not arrived at Seiryuu's shrine in just the nick of time. And she had known him as Nakago; she had been on the receiving end of his cruelty and witnessed for herself the ruthless, unfeeling sides of his nature. His true colours in all their dark glory. She sees you for who and what you really are…and it has never frightened her. That was what caught your attention right at the beginning. You have tried your best to intimidate her, but that didn't work either. Even now, she still calls you Nakago and accepts you unconditionally… a part of his mind whispered smugly. Instead of dwelling on the implications of that statement, he turned his attention to analysing the other aspects of how he felt. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to drift; sifting through his own thoughts only to encounter something entirely unexpected. With dawning comprehension, he realised that he felt…
Happiness.
And it was genuine, free of ambiguity, of overtones, of questions. It was something that occurred so rarely that he almost did not recognise it for what it was. Lying here, with her body curled so trustingly against him, felt…right. She was his polar opposite in every way, yet her presence seemed to soothe him, keeping the terrible scenes which had been haunting him at bay, banishing the shadows that lurked at the edges of his mind. It meant that she had accomplished the impossible; she of the huge hazel eyes, child-like naïveté and fiery spirit; the little baka whom he'd almost killed more times than he cared to recall. Nicholas did not open his eyes or move, save for the miniscule smile which touched his lips.
Who would have guessed?
The insistent tug of much-needed sleep which had previously eluded him for so long was becoming too strong to resist. Inhaling deeply, he let himself slip easily into the void. But even as his last conscious thought faded away, he was aware of the delicate scent of fresh strawberries following him into the darkness.
Miaka came awake slowly, confusion reigning for a second when she wondered where she was and how she had ended up here, before the memory returned in sudden wave. She turned pink when she remembered that this was his bedroom…and she was in his bed. She lay under a thick quilt, his scent surrounding her…it was almost like being in his arms. Burying her face in the luxuriously soft dark-blue sheets, she breathed in the scent that was uniquely his, trying to identify what it reminded her of. He smells like fresh mint…her forehead creased slightly in thought, …and the cool night air after a storm…
It suited him, she decided. It's…Nakago. Surely no other man could hope to duplicate a scent so wonderfully complex in its simplicity?
Abruptly, it occurred to her that she was alone in the large bed. His absence was distressing when she recalled falling asleep beside the security of his warm, solid body. She felt a stab of panic, causing her to bolt upright…and promptly winced at the pain which shot through every nerve; nearly succeeding in pitching herself to the floor. Her bruised joints had stiffened during the night, and it hurt to move. Gritting her teeth against the agony, she forced back the tears that pricked at her eyelids and made herself walk across the bedroom. Stumbling to the door as quickly as she could without falling, she yanked it open and stood in the doorway, her eyes anxiously scanning the spacious area beyond. Please let him still be here…A part of her was deathly afraid that she would wake up and find that she had imagined everything from the night before: Nakago's gentle caresses, the way he had kissed her so tenderly…Miaka just didn't think she would be able to survive the reality of it being nothing more than a dream.
Relief rolled through her, as she stood frozen, staring at him.
Clad in a crisp white long-sleeved shirt similar to the one she had on, and immaculately tailored charcoal-grey business pants, he sat facing her, calmly reading a newspaper. A matching grey suit jacket was draped over the back of the chair along with a silk tie of a colour that was several shades lighter. A plate laden with a large stack of perfectly-made pancakes topped with maple syrup had been set in the centre of the glass tabletop. Apparently oblivious to her presence, he turned a page, the paper rustling.
Miaka gaped. The scene looked so…so unbelievably normal.
"Are you just going to stand there or would you actually like some breakfast?" he addressed her without looking up. The sudden intrusion of his voice caused her to flinch violently in surprise. Had he been conscious of her presence the entire time?
It was only when she did not reply immediately, that he lifted his head to regard her, his silver-blue eyes softening slightly when he took in the various scratches and bruises visible on her limbs. She could almost feel Nakago's intent scrutiny moving over the exposed skin of her bare legs, and a dark flush crept up her neck. His gaze was doing strange things to her, causing an unprecedented weak-at-the-knees sensation. Her pulse beat at a frantic pace, thundering in her ears. All of a sudden, she became excruciatingly aware that she was wearing his shirt…and very little else.
Gathering her scattered wits about her, Miaka cautiously approached the table with a brave, overly bright smile pasted on her face. "Ohayo…" she greeted tentatively, dismayed to hear how unsure she sounded. Finding herself at a loss as to what else to say to him, she latched on to the first thing which crossed her mind. "Did you…Did you make those?" Well done, baka! Do you have any idea how inane that sounds? They're just pancakes, for heaven's sake! she groaned inwardly. Her worst fears were confirmed when he arched one mocking blonde eyebrow at her words.
The one good thing it accomplished was that it made her forget her nervousness. Her eyes flared a brilliant green-gold as she bristled indignantly, gearing herself up to do battle. In truth, she had missed their frequent verbal sparring matches…despite the fact that she lost most of the time and he always managed to insult her in some way or other. It's good to talk to him again… However, before she could utter a word, the last straw came when—as if on cue—her stomach rumbled loudly. For one awful moment, Miaka thought that she was going to be the first documented case of someone dying from acute embarrassment. Why does this sort of thing always happen to me? she wailed mentally, wishing that the floor would open up and swallow her.
Nakago chuckled, leading her to realise how much she had missed hearing him laugh (even if she had heard him do it only a handful of times…all of which had been disconcerting to say the least). He put down the newspaper, watching her with hooded eyes as she meekly sank into the chair beside him.
"I trust you slept well?" There was something deeply intimate about the question, made all the more so by the suggestive way he'd asked it. Combined with the dark sensuality which came so naturally to him, his voice became a lethally seductive weapon. Its effect on her was all too obvious…he knew just how to manipulate her, and he was using the ability mercilessly.
Miaka stared at her hands, tightly clasped together on her lap, "H-Hai…" she managed to whisper, trying her best to stop blushing. It was already bad enough that she was acting like a helpless, about-to-be-seduced heroine in some third-rate romance novel…she supposed she should be thankful that Nakago wasn't the archetypal tall, dark and handsome rogue who would carry her off to Suzaku-knew-where and have his wicked way with her! Definitely not your average storybook hero, ne? More like tall, blonde and sinfully gorgeous knight in tarnished armour…a snide voice in her mind piped up with unholy glee.
It was now safe to assume that the colour of her face was fast approaching the peculiar shade of red which could only be described as 'Beetroot'. Sternly telling herself that the insufferable man was probably deriving a great deal of personal amusement from watching her squirm did not help much, although it did at least enable her to meet his eyes again.
He graced her with a slow smile which informed her that he knew exactly what she was thinking about, but instead of pursuing the matter, he indicated the untouched plate before reaching for the cup of coffee in front of him. "Help yourself."
She felt the heavy tension in the air dissipating slightly and blinked owlishly at him, recognising that she had been granted a momentary reprieve so that she could compose herself. Unfortunately, exactly how long it was going to last was anybody's guess, especially when Nakago was the one who seemed to be pulling all the strings. "Aren't y-you…" she licked her dry lips, "Aren't you going to have any?" she asked hesitantly.
"No."
Her attention turned to the food sitting innocuously on the table before her. "Are they poisoned?" she said at last, quite proud of herself for the witty retort. The pancakes seemed to beckon to her, tempting her with their delicious aroma. Her lack of appetite over the past few weeks had alarmed Yui, Keisuke and Tetsuya. They had tried bringing her all her favourite foods; steaks, hamburgers, ice-cream…hoping that she would be coaxed into eating. Most of the food had gone to waste, with her only managing to eat a pitiful portion of what she would normally have consumed. Her brother and Yui had even dragged her to see a doctor, trying to find out if there was anything physically wrong with her, but nothing had worked. Now, however, she was ravenous, and could not remember the last time she had eaten…she had not felt hungry for so very long…
"Would I tell you if they were?"
She glared at him, deciding that the circumstances called for a change of tactics. Miaka wasn't blind; it worried her that Nakago was noticeably leaner than she had ever seen him. Although he was still incredibly handsome, his features seemed sharper; the high, finely-chiselled cheekbones were harsher and more pronounced. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day! Is that all you're having? A cup of…" she leaned forward to eye the contents of his cup critically, wrinkling her nose in distaste, "…Steaming Black Death."
"I take it that you don't like coffee," Nakago stated dryly, the suspicious blandness of his tone making her extremely wary. Damn the man! She would have wagered everything she owned that he was laughing at her again in his own inimitable way.
Miaka folded her arms defensively across her chest, "No, I don't! But that's not the point! It can't be healthy drinking it like that first thing in the morning! It's probably eating away at your stomach-lining or something even as we speak…Ugh!" she shuddered and made a face, "Not to mention that the stuff looks and tastes like tar!"
"Is that right?" he enquired silkily, his eyes taking on a decidedly predatory gleam; leaving Miaka feeling like a lamb being led to the slaughter…
The next thing she knew, the former Seiryuu seishi was looming over her. Everything happened so quickly that she barely had time to register that he'd moved before he captured her mouth with his own. Instantly melting in response, her lips parted on their own volition, the small movement allowing him unrestricted access as a moan of desire unwittingly escaped from her throat. It should be illegal for something like this to feel so good…Miaka was rapidly losing her train of thought, hovering on the brink of becoming overwhelmed by the sensations he was creating. Not only was Nakago overloading her senses, he was doing it without even touching her anywhere else!
Never in all her previous romantic interludes with Tamahome had she ever felt this way. They had both been inexperienced, and there had always been the threat of enemies attacking at any time hanging over their heads. Nevertheless, given the chance to do things over again, she would not choose to change any of it. She would always be grateful for her time with her seishi, because being with Tamahome had taught her how to love…
Tamahome's kisses had left her feeling warm and fulfilled. Even though they had often been a culmination of intense emotions, each had been unfailingly sweet, holding the innocence of first love.
With Nakago, things were completely different. It was akin to plunging head-first into the deep end of the pool without knowing how to swim. He took without asking, but gave unparalleled pleasure in return. Like an addictive drug, his kiss left her breathless and wanting more. The skin all over her body felt tight, tingling in direct reaction to his proximity; aching to feel the stroke of his long, elegant fingers…Was he aware of the power he wielded over her? She knew that he was using it as a means of proving a point about something, but she was too distracted by the warm velvet of his tongue skimming expertly along the inner curve of her bottom lip to do any serious analytical thinking on the subject.
Nakago wasn't merely kissing her; he was making love to her mouth…
They remained like that for a little while longer; enjoying the feel of each other until the need to breathe interfered. With practised ease, he skilfully tapered the kiss off, nudging gently at highly-sensitised flesh one final time before withdrawing.
His eyes had darkened to a glittering sapphire blue and she found herself trapped in their fathomless depths. "I would say that it's a definite improvement over tar, wouldn't you agree?" he quipped softly, a trace of indulgent masculine amusement in his words. He wasn't exactly smiling, but the faint curve of his mouth spoke volumes for a man as aloof as Nakago. For a minute, Miaka had absolutely no idea as to what he was talking about. Was there some thread of conversation she'd missed somewhere? She felt stupid and slow as she tried to sort through her muddled thoughts. What had they been discussing before…?
Slowly, she raised a trembling hand up to lips that felt tender and swollen. She could still taste him; fresh mint mingled with an indefinable but compelling essence that was uniquely Nakago, and…Coffee.
It suddenly occurred to her that she had just lost another argument with him. She opened her mouth to let rip with a scathing commentary on his unorthodox methods of persuasion, but her vocal chords chose that exact moment to fail her. Consequently, the only thing that emerged was a strangled squeak of outrage.
He put some space between them by smoothly resuming his seat and crossing his long legs. "Your breakfast," he pointed out nonchalantly, "Is getting cold." The slightly mischievous glimmer in his eyes was still there, making him look younger, less jaded…and dangerously attractive. With a jolt, she realised that this was the very first time she'd seen the playful side of his personality; the part of him which had never been hinted at in all the time they had known each other. Like a chameleon, Nakago appeared to change in front of her with every passing moment; always managing to surprise her, to shock her…How much did she really know about him? Only the merest fraction, it seemed. However, each new revelation allowed a small glimpse beneath the cold, impassive mask which he wore over his true self…For that, Miaka considered herself immensely privileged.
She could feel him watching as she shakily got to her feet and reached for the plate, hoping to find some refuge in her favourite past-time. Picking up a fork, she slowly began to eat. On taking her first bite, her head snapped up to stare at him in astonishment. The pancakes not only looked good, they tasted good as well. In fact, she would have readily sworn that they were the best she'd ever eaten!
Belatedly, Miaka remembered the food she had sampled in his tent, on that fateful night in Hokkan when she'd gone to him to reclaim� the shinzaho…it was entirely possible that he had cooked all those dishes himself. Who else could have done it? The blonde shogun had been the only person at the Seiryuu encampment; waiting for her to show up. And the food had still been warm when he'd invited her to join him for supper, so it couldn't have been made by anyone else…The sheer enormity of the realisation was mind-boggling. He could have at least have mentioned something…What else is he keeping up his sleeve? A passion for knitting? A flair for writing love poetry? A wife, eight children, two dogs and a goldfish? "You can cook," she grated out somewhat accusingly.
He took a sip of his black coffee, appearing to savour it. "You didn't ask."
Miaka didn't know whether to sigh or to just thump her head against the table. On second thought, that might not be such a good idea…Nakago would probably think she was trying to communicate using Morse code or something. Dear Suzaku, is there nothing the man CAN'T do? It was beginning to annoy her that he seemed to be, well…perfect. Didn't he have any significant flaws at all? And what the heck am I finding fault about?� "Is there anything you're not good at? With the exception of being humble, I mean…but then, with an ego as big as—" she muttered waspishly before she could stop herself, regretting the words the instant they were out. Although meant as a rhetorical question, it could only serve to invite trouble…
She gulped as he pinned her with an intense blue stare, sitting transfixed as he angled his body towards her. Reaching out a hand, he casually rubbed a caress over her mouth with the pad of his index finger.
"None that comes immediately to mind…" he drawled, his voice and touch sending shivers of feminine awareness down her spine, "…I've yet to receive any complaints from members of the opposite sex. Besides, can't you think of anything else I have that's probably as big as my supposed ego?"
The blush returned to Miaka's face with renewed vengeance as her mind swerved off obligingly in the direction which he'd pointed to. Not so long ago, she would have blanched at the very thought of sharing any form of intimacy with him, but now…Liquid heat pooled low in her belly as a searing image of them together materialized in her mind. What's he doing to me…? Miaka vaguely wondered how long it would be before she spontaneously combusted.
However, even as the thought crossed her mind, Nakago was already drawing back from her and resuming his previous position as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened between them. A small part of her wanted to yell at him for corrupting her mind, unfortunately, the rest of her was still too dazed by the sensual power he was capable of exercising over her when it suited him. Tearing her gaze away from him proved to be a supreme test of will, but she forced herself to concentrate on eating her breakfast and doing everything humanly possible to ignore the faint, knowing smirk which played at the corners of his mouth.
If I didn't love the egotistical baka so much, I'd kick him where it hurts! He'sgoing to be the death of me yet...she groaned inwardly, He's killing me, slowly but surely...
Half an hour later, Miaka sat in the passenger seat of a sleek silver Porsche, quietly simmering with rage as she glowered mutinously at her companion. Calm down…deep breaths…she told herself, knowing that she was being unreasonable. After all, it wasn't any fault of his that her own clothes were still damp and that it was hardly appropriate—as he'd so calmly pointed out—for her to make her way across Tokyo by means of public transportation while she was wearing nothing but a man's shirt. People had a tendency to gossip about that sort of thing, especially when the most obvious reason for her current state of dress (or more precisely, undress) appeared to be because she had—… "Spent the night in someone's bed" had been his exact words, if memory served her correctly.She ground her teeth together, furious at the way he had spelt it out to her as though she were an ignorant child.
She watched him surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye, taking in his aristocratic profile. The blonde man beside her drove the powerful sports car with the same indifferent competence which he did everything else, using an economy of movement which somehow still managed to look fluid and graceful. Now, as they approached the building where she lived, she was suddenly wracked with uncertainty. The nagging doubts that had been lurking at the back of her mind resurfaced in full force, throwing her already chaotic emotions into turmoil.
Judging from what she had seen thus far; his apartment, the expensive car, even the clothes he wore…it was painfully obvious that Nakago was a sophisticated player in the corporate world, successful in his own right. To top it off, he was also good-looking and intelligent…He could have almost any woman he wanted, so why would he waste his time on a clumsy, gauche high-school student like her? She recalled the bit of information she had learnt about his past that night in the tavern after he'd saved her from a drunken Tasuki. He cared for Soi as much as he had been able to care about anybody. Miaka had always thought the other woman to be beautiful, powerful and graceful…A female holding her own amongst a group of male seishi. In other words, Soi was everything Miaka herself was not. Now that she thought about it, she realised that Nakago and Soi would have made a strikingly handsome couple. What if…what if I'm not good enough for him? What if he was just humouring her because he didn't want to hurt her feelings by rejecting her outright? In any case, he had not even told her that he loved her. At the same time, she fought the apprehension that gnawed at her; dreading the upcoming confrontation with her brother, as well as Yui and Tetsuya. Would they think her fickle and foolish for loving Nakago? Would there be silent recriminations and looks of betrayal in their eyes?
Tortured by the direction her thoughts were continuing to take, her eyes filled with horrified tears and her lips began to tremble.
Nicholas sensed her distress, causing him to reflexively tighten his grip on the steering wheel. He could almost feel her withdrawing into herself, unconsciously huddling against the door and making herself look even smaller than she already was. Being unused to hiding her emotions, her expressive features reflected every thought passing through her mind, so it wasn't difficult to figure out the gist of the problem. And now to get to the root of it, he thought grimly.
"What is it?" he asked suddenly, recognising that it was something they had to resolve before they faced the others…and he would drag it out of her, word by word, if he had to.
"N—Nothing…what m—made you think that—"
He slanted her a quelling, sidelong glance, cutting off her weak objection. "Lying is not one of your strong points, my dear Miko. Your face gives you away," he asserted bluntly. What had triggered this all-consuming doubt?
The morning had started out well enough…He'd had—according to his internal clock—a remarkable seven-and-a-half hours of uninterrupted rest…something of a record for him. He had never managed to sleep for more than three hours at a time, and certainly not in another person's presence. His return to wakefulness had been accompanied by an intense feeling contentment and well-being…Nicholas could not remember the last time he had felt like that, nor did he ever want to let go of it. However, as fascinating as the sensation was, it had been swiftly eclipsed by the realisation that the Suzaku no Miko was lying asleep in his arms. Apparently, either one or both of them had shifted sometime during the course of the night…
As a result, he had awakened to discover that they were spooned tightly together; his body wrapped possessively around hers. Unbelievable as it seemed, it had felt as if she had been made just for him. Two halves of the same puzzle. A perfect fit. Miaka's back was snuggled securely against his chest, and the sweet curve of her buttocks had been nestled intimately against the cradle of his hips. It had taken him a few seconds to become conscious of the fact that his hand had somehow slipped under the shirt, and that there was nothing except the bare, silky skin of her belly beneath his fingertips… With considerable bemusement, Nicholas found that he'd been absently stroking the soft flesh, only to stop abruptly when he realised that he was becoming somewhat…aroused. Knowing what would inevitably happen if he stayed in this position, he had reluctantly pulled himself away from her lithe body with every ounce of self-control he could summon; resisting the temptation to touch her, to make love to her…and had grudgingly succumbed to the novelty of taking a cold shower first thing in the morning.
Keeping his face carefully expressionless, he ruthlessly pushed the heated memory aside and concentrated on navigating the vehicle through Tokyo rush-hour traffic. Still, he knew that his impatience was beginning to show…he was driving more aggressively than he normally did, and it was all her fault. Maybe he should have just let her take the bus…
The silence between them grew, becoming deafening, until Miaka finally gave in to his demand and began speaking rapidly in a low voice that was just barely audible above the sound of the car's engine, "Soi was very pretty, and given your…history with her, I thought that maybe you would want to look for her in this world. She must have been reincarnated too, I mean, I'msureyoumissherand—"
"You're right," he agreed equably, interrupting her rambling monologue, "Soi was a beautiful woman. It would be nice to see her again." Nicholas resolutely ignored the look of heart-wrenching anguish that crossed her delicate features and the pained whimper which she did not quite succeed in holding back. The real reason why she was troubled had become clear to him and he suddenly had the strangest urge to laugh despite the sobriety of the situation. Unfortunately, in her current state of mind, the intrepid priestess of Suzaku wasn't in any condition to handle humour and something told him that any sign of amusement from him would be grossly misinterpreted.
Her fears, valid as they were under the circumstances, were completely unfounded. But they exist regardless, because you haven't told her how much she means to you, his mental voice reminded him wryly. Nor could he deny that when they had first met, his initial impression of her was that she was rather ordinary…not even exceptionally pretty. It wasn't until he had gotten to know her; had taken a good, long look at her…that he had realised that she was beautiful. More beautiful than anyone he had ever known; partly because she didn't think so, but mostly because hers was the type of beauty which radiated from within…
If she only knew how her appearance earlier had affected him; this innocent child-woman, who was so incredibly strong in some ways, yet so fragile in others. Tousled from bed, barefoot, and clad in a shirt which belonged to him, she'd been completely unaware of the desire she had aroused. He had not been able to stop himself from kissing her…had been trying to find an excuse to do so the minute she had seated herself beside him at the table. To be perfectly honest, most of his previous relationships with other women all boiled down to one thing in common: The mutual slaking of a need that had everything to do with sexual pleasure and contained very little in the form of actual emotion. With Miaka, the need was spiritual, emotional, as well as physical, and he wanted her in a way which he had never wanted anyone else.
"You still love her…" There was no accusation in her voice, just a sort of weary resignation. Tears glittered in her eyes, although she was doing her best to hide them from him. He could hear the heartbroken grief in her voice, the sound hurting him in a way he had never thought possible, twisting in his soul like a deadly poison.
"I loved Soi," he corrected quietly, never taking his eyes off the road, "But I was never in love with her. There is a profound difference to me."
She sat very still as she slowly digested the implications of his statement. He couldn't bring himself to tell her what she so badly needed to hear yet, but Nicholas hoped that she would understand the significance behind those few words and what it had cost him to say them.
Minutes later, he swung the Porsche neatly into a parking lot outside her apartment building and shut off the engine.
The time had come...and as always, he would play to win.
The elevator ride seemed to take an eternity…which was not nearly long enough, from Miaka's point of view. She didn't feel ready to meet the others, but it was too late to turn back now. In addition to that, Nakago's presence acted as a deterrent against the urge to run away; she was not about to do anything to jeopardize his opinion of her…wouldn't be able to bear it if she appeared cowardly in his eyes. Standing silently behind her, he made the tiny confines of the elevator seem even smaller…yet, it was comforting to know that he would be by her side when she faced her friends and family.
Lost in thought, she stared blindly up at the numbers on the panel overhead lighting up as she remembered his cryptic statement.
[I loved Soi…But I was never in love with her. There is a profound difference to me.
As was often the case when it came to the blonde former Seiryuu seishi, it wasn't so much as what he said that mattered, but rather what he left unsaid that was importantNakago wasn't an unemotional man, although somewhere along the line, he had learnt to exert an astounding degree of control over his emotions. Dealing with him had taught her to read between the lines, and that actions sometimes spoke louder than words…Despite his laconic manner, he had succeeded in reassuring her even while he himself was probably trying to adapt to a situation that was still so strange and new. Did he know how much it had meant to her, that he had sensed her fears and had cared enough to try to ease them? It had taken her a while to recognise his words for what they truly were, but once she had, a large portion of her doubts had been put to rest. A rush of warmth infused her being as she suddenly realised how hard it must have been for him to even utter those few deceptively simple words… speaking them aloud would have entailed giving up some of his much-treasured control.
He had chosen to show her a part of his heart…
And in that moment, Miaka loved him with all of hers.
The elevator doors slid open. She took a deep breath, steeling herself and stepped out, all the while feeling the weight of his gaze on her. The door to her home loomed before her. I can do this! she repeated to herself, digging into the damp bundle of clothes she held and extracting her house keys from one of the pockets. The key-ring jingled, the metal gleaming under the fluorescent lights as she moved to fit the key into the lock…
He caught hold of her arm, stopping her. Confused by his actions, her eyes flew up to meet his as he turned her hand over. Nakago held her gaze with an impassive one of his own for a moment, before wordlessly leaning down to brush his lips over the exposed skin on the inside of her wrist, right over her pulse. She shivered helplessly with pleasure at the exquisite sensation; letting out a soft gasp when he flicked the warm tip of his tongue against her sensitive skin in a blatantly sensual gesture.
Miaka was blushing profusely by the time he released his grip on her arm, feeling unaccountably shy and embarrassed at what he was doing to her in the hallway outside her house when it was very likely that her family and friends waited just on the other side of the door. What would Onii-chan and Yui say if they saw us like that? she thought as she valiantly tried to will the heat from her cheeks and gather whatever remained of her composure. They would probably suffer from heart failure, a voice at the back of her mind muttered dazedly. However, it wasn't long before she was abruptly snapped back to reality once more when she felt fingers sliding under her chin as he tilted her flushed face upwards...
She blinked several times and stared at him in wonder, her embarrassment forgotten in an instant.
Nakago was…he was smiling. Although nothing more than the faint curving of his mouth, the smile was subtly different from the ones she had seen so far. This one was genuine. But the most wonderful thing of all was the way it reached his eyes, turning them into the clear, shimmering blue of the sky on a perfect summer's day, making it easy for her to read the warmth there…
It took her breath away.
All too soon, he lowered his hand, but not before she felt his fingertips stroking a light caress along her jaw. It's going to be all right…she realised. There was nothing to be afraid of, nothing to fear. As long as he was with her, everything would be all right. "Arigatou…" she whispered, thanking him for everything he had done for her…and for letting her love him. Then, lifting her head with all the dignity of Suzaku's chosen priestess, she looked up at him with a soft smile of her own, sure that he would understand.
Aishiteru…
Miaka turned the key in the lock and opened the door without hesitation, knowing with absolute certainty that he would be right behind her when she walked through it.
Notes:
1) Geez...it took me forever to get this one out, thanks to a creative dry spell. My muse went on vacation, and when he finally got back, he wanted to turn this thing hentai...but I didn't. glares at Muse After much debate, we reached a compromise...well, sort of. Anyway, here you have it people! A serious Nakago/Miaka romance that stays safely within the boundaries of PG-13! I realise that it's uncharted territory, but I'm doing it just to see if I can...I love a good challenge.
2) Stormlight, this one's for you! (You know why...) grins
