A/N: Hey there, everybody!! ^_^ It's been a while, huh? It's
great to be home (Wyoming was great, but Georgia can't be beat. ^_^) You
people HAVE to go to Wyoming, though!! You wouldn't believe how beautiful
it is (especially Yellowstone!) I saw a moose and her baby running across
the highway; I saw a heard of elk just hanging out on a subdivision lawn; I
saw wild swans; and I saw who knows how many buffalo!! (There was one who
was sleeping right outside the window of a hotel I was eating at! I was,
like, only three inches from it!! ^_^) Ahem, anyways, back to my story--
I'm so sorry it took forever to update, but I'm sure you understand my
reasons. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. The
angst is mild here (I bet you're all happy about that, huh? ^_^), so don't
worry about bracing yourself for it.
And I noticed a few reviews saying that you're not sure whether or not Tansho had a miscarriage per se. To clear that up, unfortunately, yes, she did. To tell the truth, I really enjoyed writing that scene despite the amount of sadness it contains. I've never written anything like that before, and it was really interesting to see what my imagination produced in the end (even though I almost did cry when I read my final product.)
Chapter 38
Night Fire
As the sun sinks over the red and golden rooftops of the city, I visit Shingen in his room to see which appointments I have tonight. He speaks softly with me as he thumbs through my appointment book that he keeps for me at the oak table beside his bed. But I can't hear his idle ramblings. I stare blindly at the black characters written on the cream-colored parchment, not really trying to read the words, only studying the odd beauty of the lines they create. Even Shingen's scribbled, masculine handwriting is interesting to look at. Anything. Anything at all to tear my mind away from him.
"Takuro in an hour--and Akahito at midnight," Shingen replies, as he slides his finger over the page, making sure he didn't miss a name anywhere.
"Hmmm." I muse, "Only two tonight?"
"It appears so," my pimp answers, "But that's all right, my girl-- you've earned a good night's rest."
I give him a faint smile as if I am pleased to hear this. Inside, I am beginning to scorch from the disgust of seeing him flip through the pages of that goddamned book, smiling every time he sees a name written down under a time. And he'll continue this until someone finally stops him. He'll continue to linger at the base of the staircase, waiting for my customers to exit whichever room I led them to, inquiring them as to when they'd like their next appointment with me.
"See you in the morning, my dear," he calls as I leave his room without saying goodbye. I fear that if I speak to him, he'll surely kill me. For I would pummel the damned bastard with every curse I knew. And I doubt that even the imperial decree from His Highness could protect me then. So I wisely hold my tongue, even though the revolting sound of his happy humming follows me to the rooms at the end of the balcony where I'll await my next customer.
I cannot feel him tonight. I cannot hear his sighs or his moans; I cannot see his brilliant flaming hair; and most of all, I cannot truly feel him touching me as I use to be able to make him. I feel Akahito's plow- callused hands running up and down the length of my back as I perch on top of him, spent and somber after two hours of exhausting copulating with only ten minute lulls in between to allow him to renew his desire. The skin of his hands is thick and rough in all places, not just along the bases of the fingers as Tasuki's always were, caused by the strong grip on his iron fan.
I listen to his heavy breath as it flows from his lungs onto my skin, slick from both his and my sweat. And I can feel it and smell it, but it isn't gently tinted with the scent of sake as Tasuki's always was.
And as I still sit atop him, my legs spread and straddling his waist, I can see Akahito's sun-darkened face, his dark, bottomless eyes, and his bland chestnut hair. The bronzed skin, intense, gold-encrusted green eyes, and vivid crimson hair is nowhere around me. I cannot see him any longer.
Annoyed, angered, and full to the brim of self-pity, I pull the linen from around our naked bodies impatiently. Without giving Akahito a single look or word, I wrap the sheet around my naked torso, sling my leg over his waist, and fall heavily on the bed beside him. I roll myself into the cool linen, welcoming its crisp chill after being pressed to my client's sweating body for nearly two hours-not to mention the couple of hours I spent with Takuro before him. I feel Akahito lean over me and lightly kiss my shoulder, his strangely gentle and polite way of thanking me. And when I feel the bed shift under his weight as he moves to rise, I feel an odd pang of guilt within my chest. I can tell that it is the coldness in my heart; I've become indifferent to the world and all that's in it. I've given up the warmth of my humanity because it is far too painful to sustain any longer. My body betrayed me not long ago, expelled from me the one thing I never thought I could have, and my heart closed. But this poor man who has come to me every week since he was fifteen, paying me far more than I ask for just to feel the softness of a woman, should not need to suffer from the chill that has consumed me. Before he can rise to dress and leave, I roll over and take hold of his wrist lightly, keeping him seated beside me on the bed.
I cannot deny that he is a kind customer. I have led him to a bed many times in the past few years, and he has always taken me tenderly, never forcing me, never seeming to punish me as some of my other clients do. I used to move into his touches gladly, allowing my body to mold to his. But tonight I had no desire to let him caress me; I urged him to take what he wanted so that he could leave as soon as possible. And he had, the darkness of his eyes reflecting his hurt at my coldness.
"I'm sorry," I say quietly, "I didn't mean to be cold." I give him a smile, and I am both surprised and relieved that it is a genuine smile. "Please stay for a while, if you'd like."
He smiles softly in return and relaxes, lying down beside me again. I allow him to pull me close to him, and find that I have missed the scent of a man's skin so close to me. And this man truly has a love for me in a way most clients don't; he has always asked for me by name and has always been a loyal patron. I feel his hand search for mine, and I offer it to him. And when he folds his fingers around mine, he does something that no other client of mine has ever done. Silently and slowly, he lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles.
We don't speak any more to each other. We only lay close together, both of us obviously starved for the tender touch of another human being. A man for a woman, and a woman for a man. And we sleep, cradled in each other's arms as if we have been lovers for as long as time has existed.
I can smell him before I even sense his presence near me. The sea. The salt of the sea clings to the very air around me. But not just the sea. I smell the refreshing, pure aroma of snow. And sand. The unfamiliar, clean scent of sand surrounds me.
Sadness. Anger. Anxiety. I can smell the scent of his emotions everywhere as if they were tangible objects that I could reach out and touch. And I resist the urge to spin madly to search for him. Instead, I lie still on the cool linens of my bed, shrouded by an odd curtain of mist, like a sheet of rain, or a spider web. And I wait for him to come to me. Just like he promised he would.
The closer he gets to me, the more of him I can feel. His emotions wash over me like floods, soaking into my skin and giving to me all that he has felt in the weeks-the months-that we have been apart. The heat of him drifts towards me, teasing me like the tongues of a flame.
And when I finally sense him just beyond the curtain that keeps me isolated in my bed, I can no longer hold myself back. He is just beyond my reach, and it is maddening. My hands begin to tremble, my breath quickens, and my eyes widen as his silhouette forms on the other side of the mist that separates us.
He's here. He's come back for me. Finally. It has taken him over three months to do so, but he has kept his promise to me.
Slowly, I reach my hand out to him, but I feel the smooth, thin curtain caress my fingertips instead. Heartbroken, I draw in a ragged breath and feel the tears flooding behind my eyes. And just as I am about to lose my hope of ever touching him again, I feel his hand close firmly over mine. My blurred eyes open fully, and I see his hand clutching my fingers in his firm yet soft grip. And then I feel his smooth cheek nestled in my palm. I hear his soft breath take in the scent of the perfume sprayed on my bare wrist.
Suddenly, the curtain of mist and spider webs that separates us is ignited in blazing orange and blood-red flames, frightening me with their sudden appearance. I bolt upright as the fire climbs to the ceiling. Instinct tells me to draw back and protect myself from the fiery wall that is still suspended in the air even though the curtain that surrounded me has been incinerated. But his hand holds me firmly, preventing me from attempting to crawl to the other side of my bed. I cry out, fearful for both of our lives.
And then he is pulling me out of my bed, away from the safety beyond the blaze. Racked by panic, I struggle and call out to him, begging him, trying to warn him. But I cannot even see his face, so I have no idea if he can even hear me. The wall of flames comes closer and closer as he pulls me farther and farther from my bed. My legs kick at my linens, trying to entangle themselves to hold me in the safety of my bed, but his strength far surpasses mine. All I can do now is stare in disbelief and terror as he drags my paralyzed body into the flames that churn wildly against each other as they flow up and down from the ceiling to the floor and back again. I brace myself the best I know how to accept the blistering scorch of the fire. But I never feel the heat, and I never smell the acrid scent of burning flesh.
Instead, I find myself pressed against dark, smooth fabric, cool to the touch and smelling of rain and earth. There is an odd yet comforting pressure on my back, pulling me closer to the midnight-colored fabric pressed close to my cheek. And something is clutching my hand firmly, carefully, and tenderly all at the same time. I twist my wrist slowly, causing my hand to move within the palm of another hand. A larger hand, whose palm is much wider and rougher than my own. But it is also smooth in places-the fingertips and center are as soft as the skin of my breasts. Only at the curved base of the fingers does the skin become slightly rougher.
My lungs draw in a deep, ragged breath as the copper skin of the stranger's hand comes into my vision. With deliberate slowness, I rotate my face upwards, sliding my cheek across the cool, black fabric until my chin is resting on the stranger's chest. My eyes gaze upward like a child's, curious and close to being frightened.
And when I see him gazing back down at me, I finally realize where he has brought me.
Fire. Everywhere. Surrounding us as if we are floating in the midst of a burning sea.
His features are visible now. I can see the gentle slope of his strange eyes, the curve of his nose, the lop-sided grin set in his lips. His hair flowing lazily in the invisible breeze created by the flames around us, blending with the orange and red of the wild blaze. The obsidian brilliance of his knee-length coat is a stark contrast against the bright scarlet of the fires. The glittering gold pendants that hangs from his necklaces of red and sky-blue beads illuminates the rest of him. His dangling beaded earrings blow lazily along with his wild hair.
Everything that I remember about him is standing in front of me, smiling at me, holding me, telling me without speaking a single word that he has returned. I could stare at him for the rest of my days, but the beckoning look in his deep, iridescent eyes tells me that he no longer merely wishes to be looked at. In desperation and relief, I wrap my arms under his and grasp his shoulder from behind, pulling him down into me, possessing him once again. He returns my embrace with equal fervor, pressing me so close to his chest that the beat of his heart seems to seep through my skin and mingle with my own.
And then I begin to weep. The tears are strangely clam, flowing evenly and delicately, not like the bawling, flood-like tears that I have become so used to weeping. These are gentle, placid tears of happiness and relief. And I feel complete as they continue to slide down my face. I feel warm and whole. Protected and cherished.
But just as I feel him breathe deeply, preparing to finally speak to me after so long, the walls of fire surrounding us disappears into darkness. And then he is gone as well. I am left standing in the middle of vast nothingness, alone and cold with the salt of my tears still clinging to my face. Blackness. Midnight. Emptiness. Everywhere I turn, I see a great void of nothing.
And then it, too, is gone. In its place, is the stark white of linen sheets. And beyond that, Akahito's tanned face, his eyes closed heavily in sleep, his lips slightly parted.
The dream is gone, and so is he. The stranger who was once my lover. The only man who never paid for me. The only man who carries my heart with him everywhere he goes. The man who is gone. The man who is returning.
And the man I love.
It is so strange. So strange that I can't help but laugh gently into Akahito's sun-darkened shoulder. I can feel the heat of a blazing fire on my bare skin-- even though I never once felt it in my dream.
A/N: Hey again!! Thanks so much for all the great reviews! They help in numerous places. I've gotten ideas for the plot from reviews, a bunch of great critiques that have helped me better my writing, not to mention the ego therapy they give me ^_^.
I've decided to tell you something that might make some of you clap your hands in glee, but slightly piss off others. In case you haven't noticed- this story is really long. ^_^ And it's gonna be REALLY REALLY long in its completed form. As of now, I am extremely close to finishing this story (you must remember that the chapters I have been posting presently were written some time ago). I am currently working on chapter 45, and I do expect this story to continue at least to a 50th chapter, where I hope to conclude it (I'm trying my best not to go beyond 50, but I don't want to make my writing suffer in order to do it). So please do bear with me if your dying to see what happens to Tansho and Tasuki in the end, but if you're the kind of person who adores long fanfics, then sit back, relax, and read to your heart's content! ^_^
Thanks again! Love you all!!
And I noticed a few reviews saying that you're not sure whether or not Tansho had a miscarriage per se. To clear that up, unfortunately, yes, she did. To tell the truth, I really enjoyed writing that scene despite the amount of sadness it contains. I've never written anything like that before, and it was really interesting to see what my imagination produced in the end (even though I almost did cry when I read my final product.)
Chapter 38
Night Fire
As the sun sinks over the red and golden rooftops of the city, I visit Shingen in his room to see which appointments I have tonight. He speaks softly with me as he thumbs through my appointment book that he keeps for me at the oak table beside his bed. But I can't hear his idle ramblings. I stare blindly at the black characters written on the cream-colored parchment, not really trying to read the words, only studying the odd beauty of the lines they create. Even Shingen's scribbled, masculine handwriting is interesting to look at. Anything. Anything at all to tear my mind away from him.
"Takuro in an hour--and Akahito at midnight," Shingen replies, as he slides his finger over the page, making sure he didn't miss a name anywhere.
"Hmmm." I muse, "Only two tonight?"
"It appears so," my pimp answers, "But that's all right, my girl-- you've earned a good night's rest."
I give him a faint smile as if I am pleased to hear this. Inside, I am beginning to scorch from the disgust of seeing him flip through the pages of that goddamned book, smiling every time he sees a name written down under a time. And he'll continue this until someone finally stops him. He'll continue to linger at the base of the staircase, waiting for my customers to exit whichever room I led them to, inquiring them as to when they'd like their next appointment with me.
"See you in the morning, my dear," he calls as I leave his room without saying goodbye. I fear that if I speak to him, he'll surely kill me. For I would pummel the damned bastard with every curse I knew. And I doubt that even the imperial decree from His Highness could protect me then. So I wisely hold my tongue, even though the revolting sound of his happy humming follows me to the rooms at the end of the balcony where I'll await my next customer.
I cannot feel him tonight. I cannot hear his sighs or his moans; I cannot see his brilliant flaming hair; and most of all, I cannot truly feel him touching me as I use to be able to make him. I feel Akahito's plow- callused hands running up and down the length of my back as I perch on top of him, spent and somber after two hours of exhausting copulating with only ten minute lulls in between to allow him to renew his desire. The skin of his hands is thick and rough in all places, not just along the bases of the fingers as Tasuki's always were, caused by the strong grip on his iron fan.
I listen to his heavy breath as it flows from his lungs onto my skin, slick from both his and my sweat. And I can feel it and smell it, but it isn't gently tinted with the scent of sake as Tasuki's always was.
And as I still sit atop him, my legs spread and straddling his waist, I can see Akahito's sun-darkened face, his dark, bottomless eyes, and his bland chestnut hair. The bronzed skin, intense, gold-encrusted green eyes, and vivid crimson hair is nowhere around me. I cannot see him any longer.
Annoyed, angered, and full to the brim of self-pity, I pull the linen from around our naked bodies impatiently. Without giving Akahito a single look or word, I wrap the sheet around my naked torso, sling my leg over his waist, and fall heavily on the bed beside him. I roll myself into the cool linen, welcoming its crisp chill after being pressed to my client's sweating body for nearly two hours-not to mention the couple of hours I spent with Takuro before him. I feel Akahito lean over me and lightly kiss my shoulder, his strangely gentle and polite way of thanking me. And when I feel the bed shift under his weight as he moves to rise, I feel an odd pang of guilt within my chest. I can tell that it is the coldness in my heart; I've become indifferent to the world and all that's in it. I've given up the warmth of my humanity because it is far too painful to sustain any longer. My body betrayed me not long ago, expelled from me the one thing I never thought I could have, and my heart closed. But this poor man who has come to me every week since he was fifteen, paying me far more than I ask for just to feel the softness of a woman, should not need to suffer from the chill that has consumed me. Before he can rise to dress and leave, I roll over and take hold of his wrist lightly, keeping him seated beside me on the bed.
I cannot deny that he is a kind customer. I have led him to a bed many times in the past few years, and he has always taken me tenderly, never forcing me, never seeming to punish me as some of my other clients do. I used to move into his touches gladly, allowing my body to mold to his. But tonight I had no desire to let him caress me; I urged him to take what he wanted so that he could leave as soon as possible. And he had, the darkness of his eyes reflecting his hurt at my coldness.
"I'm sorry," I say quietly, "I didn't mean to be cold." I give him a smile, and I am both surprised and relieved that it is a genuine smile. "Please stay for a while, if you'd like."
He smiles softly in return and relaxes, lying down beside me again. I allow him to pull me close to him, and find that I have missed the scent of a man's skin so close to me. And this man truly has a love for me in a way most clients don't; he has always asked for me by name and has always been a loyal patron. I feel his hand search for mine, and I offer it to him. And when he folds his fingers around mine, he does something that no other client of mine has ever done. Silently and slowly, he lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles.
We don't speak any more to each other. We only lay close together, both of us obviously starved for the tender touch of another human being. A man for a woman, and a woman for a man. And we sleep, cradled in each other's arms as if we have been lovers for as long as time has existed.
I can smell him before I even sense his presence near me. The sea. The salt of the sea clings to the very air around me. But not just the sea. I smell the refreshing, pure aroma of snow. And sand. The unfamiliar, clean scent of sand surrounds me.
Sadness. Anger. Anxiety. I can smell the scent of his emotions everywhere as if they were tangible objects that I could reach out and touch. And I resist the urge to spin madly to search for him. Instead, I lie still on the cool linens of my bed, shrouded by an odd curtain of mist, like a sheet of rain, or a spider web. And I wait for him to come to me. Just like he promised he would.
The closer he gets to me, the more of him I can feel. His emotions wash over me like floods, soaking into my skin and giving to me all that he has felt in the weeks-the months-that we have been apart. The heat of him drifts towards me, teasing me like the tongues of a flame.
And when I finally sense him just beyond the curtain that keeps me isolated in my bed, I can no longer hold myself back. He is just beyond my reach, and it is maddening. My hands begin to tremble, my breath quickens, and my eyes widen as his silhouette forms on the other side of the mist that separates us.
He's here. He's come back for me. Finally. It has taken him over three months to do so, but he has kept his promise to me.
Slowly, I reach my hand out to him, but I feel the smooth, thin curtain caress my fingertips instead. Heartbroken, I draw in a ragged breath and feel the tears flooding behind my eyes. And just as I am about to lose my hope of ever touching him again, I feel his hand close firmly over mine. My blurred eyes open fully, and I see his hand clutching my fingers in his firm yet soft grip. And then I feel his smooth cheek nestled in my palm. I hear his soft breath take in the scent of the perfume sprayed on my bare wrist.
Suddenly, the curtain of mist and spider webs that separates us is ignited in blazing orange and blood-red flames, frightening me with their sudden appearance. I bolt upright as the fire climbs to the ceiling. Instinct tells me to draw back and protect myself from the fiery wall that is still suspended in the air even though the curtain that surrounded me has been incinerated. But his hand holds me firmly, preventing me from attempting to crawl to the other side of my bed. I cry out, fearful for both of our lives.
And then he is pulling me out of my bed, away from the safety beyond the blaze. Racked by panic, I struggle and call out to him, begging him, trying to warn him. But I cannot even see his face, so I have no idea if he can even hear me. The wall of flames comes closer and closer as he pulls me farther and farther from my bed. My legs kick at my linens, trying to entangle themselves to hold me in the safety of my bed, but his strength far surpasses mine. All I can do now is stare in disbelief and terror as he drags my paralyzed body into the flames that churn wildly against each other as they flow up and down from the ceiling to the floor and back again. I brace myself the best I know how to accept the blistering scorch of the fire. But I never feel the heat, and I never smell the acrid scent of burning flesh.
Instead, I find myself pressed against dark, smooth fabric, cool to the touch and smelling of rain and earth. There is an odd yet comforting pressure on my back, pulling me closer to the midnight-colored fabric pressed close to my cheek. And something is clutching my hand firmly, carefully, and tenderly all at the same time. I twist my wrist slowly, causing my hand to move within the palm of another hand. A larger hand, whose palm is much wider and rougher than my own. But it is also smooth in places-the fingertips and center are as soft as the skin of my breasts. Only at the curved base of the fingers does the skin become slightly rougher.
My lungs draw in a deep, ragged breath as the copper skin of the stranger's hand comes into my vision. With deliberate slowness, I rotate my face upwards, sliding my cheek across the cool, black fabric until my chin is resting on the stranger's chest. My eyes gaze upward like a child's, curious and close to being frightened.
And when I see him gazing back down at me, I finally realize where he has brought me.
Fire. Everywhere. Surrounding us as if we are floating in the midst of a burning sea.
His features are visible now. I can see the gentle slope of his strange eyes, the curve of his nose, the lop-sided grin set in his lips. His hair flowing lazily in the invisible breeze created by the flames around us, blending with the orange and red of the wild blaze. The obsidian brilliance of his knee-length coat is a stark contrast against the bright scarlet of the fires. The glittering gold pendants that hangs from his necklaces of red and sky-blue beads illuminates the rest of him. His dangling beaded earrings blow lazily along with his wild hair.
Everything that I remember about him is standing in front of me, smiling at me, holding me, telling me without speaking a single word that he has returned. I could stare at him for the rest of my days, but the beckoning look in his deep, iridescent eyes tells me that he no longer merely wishes to be looked at. In desperation and relief, I wrap my arms under his and grasp his shoulder from behind, pulling him down into me, possessing him once again. He returns my embrace with equal fervor, pressing me so close to his chest that the beat of his heart seems to seep through my skin and mingle with my own.
And then I begin to weep. The tears are strangely clam, flowing evenly and delicately, not like the bawling, flood-like tears that I have become so used to weeping. These are gentle, placid tears of happiness and relief. And I feel complete as they continue to slide down my face. I feel warm and whole. Protected and cherished.
But just as I feel him breathe deeply, preparing to finally speak to me after so long, the walls of fire surrounding us disappears into darkness. And then he is gone as well. I am left standing in the middle of vast nothingness, alone and cold with the salt of my tears still clinging to my face. Blackness. Midnight. Emptiness. Everywhere I turn, I see a great void of nothing.
And then it, too, is gone. In its place, is the stark white of linen sheets. And beyond that, Akahito's tanned face, his eyes closed heavily in sleep, his lips slightly parted.
The dream is gone, and so is he. The stranger who was once my lover. The only man who never paid for me. The only man who carries my heart with him everywhere he goes. The man who is gone. The man who is returning.
And the man I love.
It is so strange. So strange that I can't help but laugh gently into Akahito's sun-darkened shoulder. I can feel the heat of a blazing fire on my bare skin-- even though I never once felt it in my dream.
A/N: Hey again!! Thanks so much for all the great reviews! They help in numerous places. I've gotten ideas for the plot from reviews, a bunch of great critiques that have helped me better my writing, not to mention the ego therapy they give me ^_^.
I've decided to tell you something that might make some of you clap your hands in glee, but slightly piss off others. In case you haven't noticed- this story is really long. ^_^ And it's gonna be REALLY REALLY long in its completed form. As of now, I am extremely close to finishing this story (you must remember that the chapters I have been posting presently were written some time ago). I am currently working on chapter 45, and I do expect this story to continue at least to a 50th chapter, where I hope to conclude it (I'm trying my best not to go beyond 50, but I don't want to make my writing suffer in order to do it). So please do bear with me if your dying to see what happens to Tansho and Tasuki in the end, but if you're the kind of person who adores long fanfics, then sit back, relax, and read to your heart's content! ^_^
Thanks again! Love you all!!