"Amu," his voice came to my ears in a much darker and deeper tone than I was used to. "You will go upstairs and lay down immediately." I glanced over my shoulder as I continued to stir the soup on the stove. He was all threat and demand, leaning a hard shoulder against the wooden archway that lead in and out of the kitchen and to the front room. His blue eyes were narrowed, a passion behind them that I hadn't seen so bright in a long while that could easily be mixed in with the worry his angular face showed.
"I can't honestly believe that you can make soup. I'm sorry Ikuto, but until this is done I'm not moving from this kitchen." My eyes lingered on his attire, casual. He had come home and changed from his formal 'I'm a musician and since I'm trying to get money for my producers I'll sell myself to you today' attire. A white tee with a thin blue elbow length overcoat, regular faded jeans with a black belt wrapped around the waist, and no socks. No socks were odd, he liked his feet covered except on occasions when he knew they would get in the way.
"You're not doing much better," he said, lifting his chin up just enough to signal over my shoulder. I snapped my neck back around to the soup just in time to see it almost bubbling over. I quickly changed it over to a burner that wasn't on and turned off the other burner. I stirred it and quickly added some of the smaller spices and herbs just to ensure maximum deliciousness before letting it cool. "Now will you go rest?" He asked it impatiently, like I was a small child. That infuriated me.
"No, Ikuto, I won't. So stop pestering me. I'm not so sick that I need constant supervision. I can make my own damn soup and rest as I please. So go find something else to worry over." I glared over my shoulder at him and made a shooing motion with my hand that was free from stirring. His eyes narrowed in return, a glare that would have worried me if I wasn't so snappy already. He was calling a fight, and I would gladly give him one.
"But you are sick-" I interrupted him, loudly, before he could continue anymore.
"Go call your sister. She is constantly nagging me to make you call her. You and Aruto both. I'm not your housekeepers. I'm not your owners. She should find a way to contact you both without having me in the middle of it all." It was one more thing in the day that had landed on my shoulders, and I knew it unfair to be throwing this anger and frustration at Ikuto, loving husband he was (thank god for that), but all this was getting old.
A silence filled the room, and I wasn't exactly sure if he had left or not. I didn't particularly want to look either. I moved about the kitchen, getting the refrigerator ready for the large container of soup that was now cooled enough to be placed in the colder white box under the freezer. When I was done and had little else to do in the kitchen, I finally turned to see Ikuto still standing in the archway. His eyes outlined my body, moving from my pink head of hair to my red painted toenails. I said nothing to him, just shouldered by and walked up to our bedroom. He had been right, I am sick and need my rest. I just get bored in a house while the summer heat gives children off from school and makes Ikuto work long hours. Sometimes I wish during the two month break I could do something more useful than sit around and be a house wife (which was actually a small part of the reason I became a teacher).
My stomach growled with the memory of soup smell, and I instantly regretted not leaving with a bowl to sip at while I sulked in our renovated large bedroom. We hadn't yet decide on children or no children, so with a house with four bedrooms that were all generally the same size, we took a wall out between two and made a large bedroom and left two others for either guests or whenever we decided children was a good idea. My body burned now that it wasn't being compared to a hot pot of soup, and instead laid between two soft, cold sheets. I sighed, feeling the weight of summer break and the flu crashing down on my already pounding head.
I didn't hear him enter, but when the bed tilted and the springs shifted to accommodate him, I wasn't particularly mad he was here. "Here," he said softly, not a hint of our earlier almost-fight lingering in his tone. "It's not apple juice, but I thought you might appreciate it." I tugged myself up, resting against the headboard before holding my hands out to accept what he had to offer. And oh what an offering it was.
Hot chocolate with roasted marshmallows on top. I brought the warm mug to my nose, letting the sent linger. Oh god, he even put peppermint something in it. "You know," I began, taking a small sip of the mixture before continuing, "If I wasn't already married to you, this would be the time I would ask you to be my husband so you can make me this stuff whenever I wanted it." He chuckled in response, a small smile came and went over his features so fast that if one wasn't looking for it, or even knew how to, they wouldn't have caught it. I knew a small gift when I saw it, and that smile was a greater gift than his famous hot chocolate which currently sat between my hands and was the reason for me marrying him a ninth time.
He leaned forward, brushing his lips across my cheek before standing up. "When you're done with that you better be ready. I'm not going to hold back just because you're sick." A blush quickly flooded onto my cheeks from his promise, however dirty or innocent the warning was it still brought an image of two writhing bodies against the other. His laugh followed him down the hall and vanished down the stairs before I had even the right of mind to scream out a name to him that wasn't so vile, but still I knew irritated him.
Oh how right and how wrong the image was, and oh how magnificent his hands were. The magic he could do with them. A quick breath, then a soft moan escaped before I arched myself into his touch. He had already massaged my shoulders and arms, and was currently moving down my body. He was at mid-back when my breath hitched against the knot that he had found in my muscles, then a soft moan released as he soothed and released the painful twist before moving on. "Will you marry me?" I asked, sighing against his touch as he lightly ran his hands down the edges of my spine.
He chuckled, lightly, before he responded. He was concentrating, I knew, and while he was in his zone it often took him longer to think of an answer. It often took him more time to respond when his concentration had to do with my body (a fact I didn't mind at all). "I'm already married to you," he said finally, moving down from my back to one of my legs.
"Can we marry again?" I asked, sighing once more as he ran his fingers against the inside of my thigh, pushing against knots that had built up and relieving them.
"Have you found some new way to get married? I'm sure we've done this five times now," he murmured, just barely holding the conversation.
"I've been reading this really good book series and they get moon sworn. Like, swear their loyalty to each other to the full moon and all. It sounds romantic." Seriously, this man and his hands. They were pure magic against my skin. He could play me just as well as he could his violin, and probably knew my body just as well.
"Sounds interesting," he paused in his movements, just barely using his thumbs in circular motions around my kneecap. "It could really be a, 'down memory lane' or something like that, right?" He went back to rubbing, massaging, and pinching out all the sore in my body.
"No kidding," I laughed, which received a light tap to the bum. Ikuto often said moving around too much during a massage just made all the knots return with a vengeance, so squirming was off limits. Too much and I'd get spanked. Not that it bothered me, he did it more of a reminder (and it never hurt). "You always seemed to appear on a full moon. What's with that?" I scrunched up my face, an itch making its way to my nose.
"It's all in the name," he said, running his fingers around my ankle, then began on massaging my foot. I melted right then and there, not quite remembering what we were talking about, or that I had a small headache or a running nose and a slight fever. I was in bliss. It was silent for a long time. He shifted around and started on my other leg, and by time he got to my other foot I was almost asleep. So relaxed I was, and no one would ever interrupt this wonderful feeling. If someone tried, I'm not sure I had enough fucks to give. I was so, so relaxed.
"Rest well," the words strung together on soft fabric through my mind, a small pressure on my temple, clouds wrapped around me. A dream followed suit. Pink clouds fading from the sunset to a dark, clear night. The wind shifted, however all I saw was the sky. Soon, just as I thought the sky wouldn't change from the dark blue plain canvas, gold began to spark. It grew and swirled, creating the stars and the moon. In its wake came clouds, and soon a ocean of colors and movement bloomed under the sky, a landscape so magnificent any artist would tear and the beauty. I stirred away from it, waking to warmth that wasn't just my own.
Ikuto lay next to me, one arm protectively wrapped around my waist as the other rested under my head. A living pillow that I had easily become used to over the few years of living together then marriage. It was a small comfort that I clung too, especially after a nightmare (however, it had been a very long time since the last nightmare had bloomed in my mind).
A growl rumbled through my stomach, an easy reminder of why I woke. "Husband," I murmured, as I had tried to scoot away from Ikuto but only to be met again by his body lined with mine. "Hungry."
"Wife," he mumbled in his sleep, knowing this conversation well even while unconscious. "Sleeping."
"Husband," I repeated, "Food. Hungry."
"Wife." He paused, sighing deeply through his nose. Cold air fanned out across my neck, a sensation that left me giving a small whimper. "Dreaming of wife."
"Am I nagging again?" I asked, more out of habit than curiosity. It began when this all began (this being us sleeping in the same bed and the origin of sleep talking), and his answer had been 'yes.' I hadn't realized that he was dreaming of a fight we had once, and the answer would vary depending on his dream, but I got quite puffy about it. I kicked him right off the bed. It was obviously the same response I'd given him in our fight, which left his dazed about why I was older and in less clothes than back in my younger years. I was puffy about it for quite some time (a whole whopping five minutes) before he told me the tale and all was good.
"No, not this time," he mumbled back, brushing his lips across my shoulder. "You're yelling though. Pervert. Pervert. Always pervert with you." I laughed at this. Not because it was a shocking response, or because it was funny, just because I probably knew what I was yelling about at that time and what memory he was dreaming of.
"Pervert," I whispered into his ear, which made his face crumple up in slight confusion. Most of the time when he heard the word, my breath on his ear didn't follow, nor a softness in my voice which said the word. It was always interesting to mess with Ikuto while he slept. I knew he did it often with me and I didn't know if I was doomed for not remembering it or blessed.
My stomach gave another loud growl, and at this louder sound Ikuto jumped awake. Confusion flashed around his features, still groggy from sleep, as he looked around the room and finally landed on me. I gave him a small smirk of my own (one I had learned from him over the years), and said, "Husband, hungry."
