Dreamer Awakened
CHAPTER TWENTY - ONE
Murakumo slowly sauntered forward. Despite the waves of raven hair partially obscuring his face, the twist of his mocking smile was clearly evident to Midori. She swiveled her head, her mouth still gaping, following his casual movement as he walked past her, completely ignoring her.
"I'm sorry," Murakumo intoned, his deep voice reflecting not regret but scorn, " - but she's far too valuable to me to have her used and discarded by the likes of you!"
Murakumo flexed his hand and there was a ring of steel as the blade slid from his arm. The gang leader's mouth dropped open, his eyes widening in disbelief as he continued to back pedal, scrambling to get away from Murakumo.
"Where the hell did you come from?" his voice cracked in panic.
"Disgusting human," Murakumo uttered contemptuously, the twist to his lips becoming more prominent as he came to a stop, his hair swinging away from his face, revealing the coldness of both of his grey eyes as he stared down at the youth who had tripped and fallen in his haste to flee. "Even if I were to tell you, your pathetically tiny brain would be unable to comprehend it, so I'll just spare myself the effort and kill you now!"
Murakumo raised his hand, angling the blade down, preparing to run it through the now blubbering gang leader. But before he could thrust forward, he felt a heavy weight pull on his arm from behind and he sharply turned his head to see Midori standing there. She was leaning backwards, her hands wrapped around his upper arm tugging on it with all her might to keep it from following its natural downward motion.
"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, his eyes suddenly burning with fury as he looked down into her unnaturally white face.
Midori's wide, brown eyes swung away from him and she looked at the cowering boy still lying on the ground.
"What are you waiting for!?" she yelled at him, and then grimaced when white hot pain shot through her bloodied hand and up her arm as Murakumo tried to shake her loose. "Get out of here!" she choked, and watched as the boy scrambled to his feet, and, without looking back, took off down the alley.
"Let go of me, you stupid girl!" Murakumo snarled.
He brought his other hand up, roughly prying at her fingers and easily broke free, but by now, the youth could no longer be seen, having disappeared around the corner, and Murakumo swore loudly. He started to move forward but his progress was further impeded when Midori launched herself at his middle, the warmth of her body colliding against the chill of his skin. She clung to him like a limpet and Murakumo heard her quick intake of breath as her leg banged hard against the blade in his hand.
"What are you doing!?" he demanded, but pulling his arm away from her and retracting the blade before she further damaged herself. "Let go, Midori! I must go after him."
"Why?" she cried, her voice throbbing with suppressed emotion, "so you can kill him like you killed the other two!?"
"They're not dead," he told her through clenched teeth, trying to push her away, "at least not yet, but they soon will be. Now let go!"
With both hands he grabbed her arms and she cried out in pain. He immediately let go of her and looked down at the wetness against the palm of his hand. It was stained bright red with her blood.
"Let go Midori," he demanded again, but with less anger this time, "you're bleeding all over me."
"I – I can't!" she replied brokenly, "I won't let you kill them!"
Murakumo stiffened and he abruptly glanced down at the top of her head, his steel grey eyes narrowing in anger.
"Why are you protecting these nauseating mongrels when they would have raped you and discarded you like the rest of the disgusting filth in this alleyway?" he demanded, her reasoning once again defying his logic.
"I'm not doing it for them! I was doing it because –" Midori babbled before breaking her words off in a loud gulp. She bit her lip and took a steadying breath before finally managing to respond in a calmer voice, "If you kill them, then you're no better than they are."
Murakumo didn't say anything for a long moment, and Midori continued to cling to him, but her hold was weakening as her body began to tremble in delayed shock. Her arms jerked against him even though she tried to hold them steady.
"How dare you compare me to such human waste," Murakumo seethed in resentment, staring off into the distance, seemingly unaware of her weakness.
A few more seconds and she would be on the ground, Midori thought rapidly, and so, as a last ditch effort, she blurted out, "I'll let you go, if you give me your word that you'll not go after them."
Murakumo didn't say anything and Midori's arms slid a few inches lower against his waist. Despite her effort to squeeze them tightly together, she was slowly being pulled to the ground by the weight of her body, her shaky legs unable to hold her up any more.
Please, Murakumo." A note of desperation entered her voice and she closed her eyes tightly, trying to force herself to remain upright through sheer willpower alone.
"Why should I even consider letting them live?" he muttered sullenly, mostly to himself, feeling his intent wavering because of her beseeching request.
"To prove to me that you are the king of Aragami," Midori continued desperately, openly her eyes and looking up at his jaw line. "To show me that you are better than they are "
"The Aragami have no mercy for humans, for they do not deserve any," Murakumo replied harshly.
His gaze once again swung down to her, into her imploring brown eyes, and he felt an uncomfortable sensation begin to assail him. It made him want to push her away but for some odd reason he found he could not.
"Please," Midori beseeched, her bottom lip trembling along with the rest of her, wanting to see his expression soften, wanting him to show her that part of him that he kept hidden from everyone.
You're trusting in a lie, her brain whispered to her when he just stood there, the harshness of his expression unrelenting as his cold grey eyes met hers in an unflinching stare. The part of him that you're looking for doesn't exist; you only wish it did. You've been a fool to believe it, came the thought, and tears began to crowd the corners of her eyes. But then there was a flash of something in the steel of his eyes and he looked sharply away from her.
"Very well," he relented reluctantly, but his expression remained remote and unmoving, "to prove to you that I am superior to you humans in every way, I will let them live." He stopped speaking and clenched his hands in anger against himself for letting this silly female's tears affect his decision.
What was happening to him that he would let human emotion get in the way of his determination? He didn't know, but he didn't like it..
"Now let go of me," he demanded glacially, disliking the warmth of her body, knowing that the feel of it pressed against him had only magnified the effect of her tears. "You're bleeding all over me," he reiterated.
Normally his callous remark would have angered Midori, but she was too busy trying not to pass out to be worried about Murakumo's unfeeling behavior. Instead she let go of him, and staggered drunkenly away, clamping her lacerated hand around the cut on her arm, to try and staunch the bleeding of both.
Fighting for her balance, she gritted her teeth against the pain and swayed on her feet, stepping back to lean against the stone side of the building while Murakumo turned and took several long strides away from her. After a few moments, some of her weakness subsided and she focused her attention on the long strands of jet - black hair flowing down Murakumo's bare back as she gave him an assessing look.
He seemed much stronger than he had been even as late as this morning when she had left him at her brother's house, she mused. And despite his lack of clothing, he didn't appear to be suffering from the effects of the frigid weather, either. But despite his appearance Midori couldn't help remembering the coldness of his skin next to hers and she began to worry. He shouldn't be out here, she silently fretted, and wondered why he was.
"What are you doing here?" She blurted the question out before she realized she had asked it and wasn't surprised when he didn't answer
"What in god's name possessed you to come down here?" Murakumo asked instead, his voice reflecting his disgust as he looked around at the dirty, squalid filth that littered the alley.
She must have been getting ready to betray him to someone she was to have met here, he concluded, answering his own question before she spoke. It was the only reason that made any sense to him - until she gave him another.
"I was hiding," she replied after a long moment.
Murakumo looked over his shoulder at her in surprise, his brows soaring high over his grey eyes. "From whom?"
"My mother," she briefly responded, dropping her gaze to the ground, her hand, still clamped tightly around her arm, now beginning to throb painfully from the pressure.
"Why?" Murakumo wondered aloud.
"Because I'm not supposed to be in Ise, that's why," Midori told him flatly, still refusing to look at him, irritated with herself for being too soft to turn him in.
Murakumo felt a jolt of surprise at her response and he struggled not to show it as the ramifications of her statement hit him. She had been trying to protect him, he realized with a start. Did that mean that the intent of his threats had succeeded? That she was afraid of him? Looking at her standing there now, the sweep of long dark lashes resting against her pale cheeks as she avoided his gaze, he found it difficult if not impossible to believe that that was the reason.
There was no fear in her face, no sign of intimidation whatsoever.
But what other reason could there possibly be?
Growing uncomfortable beneath Murakumo's steady gaze, Midori pushed herself from the side of the building, and trying to further evade his inquisitive stare, she swiveled away from him to stagger down the alley on rubbery legs towards where she had abandoned her things.
As she stumbled along, she peeled her hand away from her arm and looked down at it, assessing the damage to it. The gash was deep, running the entire length of her palm and it was steadily oozing, unlike her arm, which, she was thankful to discover was not as bad as her hand; the bleeding from it almost stopped completely.
Turning the corner to the alley, Midori crouched down and retrieved her things, shoving the contents of her handbag that had been scattered across the ground back into her purse. Then she reached into one of the bags and pulled out a black polo shirt, holding it out to Murakumo who had followed her around the corner.
"Here," she muttered and then added impatiently when he just stared at it, "would you just take it already, before you have a chance to tell me that I'm bleeding all over it?"
Shooting her a nasty look, Murakumo reached out and snatched it away from her. As he quickly dropped it over his head, Midori was relieved to see that she had done a good job of guessing his size for it fit almost perfectly.
A little too perfectly, actually, she thought resentfully, noting how the fabric stretched taught across the broad muscles of his shoulders and accentuated the smooth contours of his chest.
Irritated with herself for noticing, Midori forced her attention back to her things and rummaged around in the bag one more time. With a regretful sigh, she pulled out one of the t -shirts she had just purchased for Murakumo. Using her teeth and her uninjured hand, she proceeded to tear several longs strips from it so she could wrap them around her arm and her hand, her movements watched by a sullenly quiet Murakumo.
She did her best to ignore his presence while she wound the fabric tightly around her wounds and as she worked she was unable to stifle the thought that she had just fashioned a rather expensive band-aid, and felt a stab of regret at the waste of her hard earned money.
Once she was finished tying the clumsy knots she had made, she tried to rise to her feet but found it difficult, almost keeling over onto her side, her legs still rubbery around the knees. Putting a steadying hand to the ground to keep herself from toppling sideways, she was surprised to find Murakumo's fingers wrapped beneath her elbow. Her startled eyes shot to his expressionless face as he hauled her to her feet and she collided against the hard muscle of his chest, feeling the bottom drop out of her stomach as he held her against him for a split second longer than was necessary.
Abruptly he released her but made no move to put any distance between them, so she did it for him, her gaze dropping to the ground as she moved away, squelching the desire to lean into him and sternly reminding herself that he had a family waiting for him somewhere.
"How did you get here?" Midori asked over her shoulder as she swung away from him and began to weave her way up the alley until, once again, Murakumo put a steadying hand beneath her elbow to help guide her.
Well, he sure as hell hadn't flown here, he thought acerbically, since his mitama still wasn't restored enough to allow flight. Instead he had adopted the same manner that that imperfect soul, Kusanagi had used before he had absorbed his eighth mitama. And a damn inconvenience it had been too; having to flit from rooftop to rooftop, like a common insect.
"I walked," came his short reply, making his voice as uninviting as possible, hoping to avoid having to answer any more of her questions.
"You walked?" She echoed incredulously, her brown eyes glued to his stony profile, "fifteen miles?" She looked down at her watch, a look of skepticism written across her plain features. She hadn't been gone long enough for him to have walked all the way here. "Impossible!" she mumbled faintly.
"Only impossible for you puny humans," he coolly rejoined, still not looking at her and she just snorted bitterly and tried to jerk her arm free from his hold, but he wouldn't turn her loose.
"Let go!" she muttered furiously but he only gave her a mocking laugh and ignored her, propelling her around the prone bodies of the two remaining gang members, out of the alley and along the sidewalk.
"Where is your car?" he asked her, walking briskly, seemingly unconcerned by the fact that her feet kept getting tangled together as she fought him and he was almost dragging her alongside him.
After a few more tugs, Midori gave up, too dispirited to fight any more and pointed to her little car parked a few feet away. Murakumo stopped by the curb and stared at it before turning his cool grey eyes to her, giving her an assessing look.
"Can you drive?" he asked, one eyebrow raised in inquiry, finally letting go of her.
'Of course," she replied with a nonchalance she was far from feeling.
Murakumo just stood there, looking expectantly at her and she finally turned and tried to insert the key into the car door, her hand shaking so badly that it took several tries before she finally got it in far enough to turn it. Thankfully, Murakumo refrained from making any of his usual condescending remarks, and Midori snuck a peek at him before she climbed into the car to see him staring impassively down at her from the curb.
"Aren't you going to get in?" she asked after a minute when he had still refused to move.
He looked away from her then, staring off in the distance, his eyes narrowed against the midday sun. "No."
Did she honestly think he would ride in such a filthy, disgusting, human contraption that did nothing but belch fumes and disrupted the flow of nature? He thought scornfully. He would rather die first.
"No?" Midori echoed, her eyes widening in panic.
Was he planning on leaving then? She thought frantically. He couldn't! His mitama still wasn't healed and he would be vulnerable – but Midori clamped down on her thoughts, trying to stifle the rising tide of alarm that swelled inside her. If he left, then that would simplify her life tremendously, she told herself repressively. Why should she worry what happened to him? No, she mentally rectified; she refused to worry about him.
Midori glanced away from him then to stare woodenly through the windshield, turning the key in the ignition, and then placing her hand on the wheel as the engine purred to life. Driving home was not going to be easy, but that concern took a backseat to the turmoil she was currently experiencing over Murakumo.
"Well, then," she mumbled through numb lips, "goodbye."
And then she put the car in gear and drove off, making herself stare straight ahead without looking back, her chest heaving with the sadness she refused to yield to. She drove all the way back to her brother's house in a fog, only dimly aware of the constant throbbing in her hand and the tight ache in her arm which compared not at all to the funny feeling she had in the middle of her chest.
She pulled up into the drive, switched the ignition off and sat, motionless, behind the wheel for several moments, staring at the front of the house with unseeing eyes, unable to get the blasted, royal jerk out of her mind. Finally she managed to force herself out of her reverie, knowing that she needed to go in to attend to her wounds. The makeshift bandage she had wrapped around her palm was now bloodied all the way through. Reaching over, she grabbed up her things and pulled them from the car, her lips twisting sardonically as she realized that she now had no need for all the things that she had just purchased.
"Fool," she muttered viciously to herself, "Midori, you're just a stupid fool to be enchanted by a pretty face that hides nothing but a cold soul," she condemned harshly as she opened her brother's front door and stepped through, pushing it closed behind her.
But he's not cold, a voice somewhere deep inside argued. Didn't he save you life this afternoon? It demanded, and she realized with a start that he had indeed saved her life this afternoon.
Why? Why would he do that?
The question plagued her as Midori dropped her bags and her purse on the desk chair next to the door and with automatic motions, headed into the kitchen, lost in thought. Why had he come there in the first place? She stared blankly at the cabinets and couldn't come up with any logical reasons and so with a tired sigh, she tried to push her troublesome thoughts away, since they were useless at this point anyway.
Reaching over the sink, Midori opened the cabinet and took out a square box that contained thick rolls of gauze, tape, antiseptic and various other miscellaneous medical supplies: her first aid kit; the one she had made when she had first brought Murakumo – Midori winced at the thought, breaking it off before she completed it and forced herself to focus on what she was doing.
Emptying her mind of everything, she turned her attention to the box. Placing the kit on the counter next to the sink, she took the lid off, removing the things she needed and arranged them neatly along the counter next to the box. Then she looked down and began to unbutton her shirt to remove it, her right hand, now stiff as well as painful, offering her left little assistance with the buttons.
Finally, she managed to pull the last button free, and she shrugged out of her blouse and dropped it on the counter, picking up a pair of small, sharply curved scissors at the same time to bring them up to the bloodied jersey wrapped around her upper left arm. Biting her lip against the groan that rose in her throat as she tried to use the scissors, Midori managed to cut through the knots holding the hastily fashioned bandage in place. With a shaky breath, she set the scissors on the counter and then slowly began to unwind the material. Once her arm lay bare, she examined it closely, and then cleaned the slash before applying the antiseptic. Her hands were trembling now, from the pain of the effort of having to use her right hand, and because of that, her effort to re-wrap her arm with clean gauze, were clumsy in the extreme.
By the time she was done, she had broken out into a cold sweat, and her knees were once again knocking together. Midori leaned weakly against the counter for a moment before she even contemplated starting on her hand, waiting for the momentary weakness to subside and hoping that the throbbing in her hand would ease off some before she had to work on it.
She needed to sit down, she told herself weakly and she pushed away from the counter, turning towards the center of the room. She had only taken one step towards the table, when from the corner of her eye; something out of place caught her attention.
She turned her head, her eyes widening and she gasped. Murakumo stood framed within the doorway, quietly staring at her, his hair pushed away from his face so that she could see both of his steel grey eyes. They moved from her face to the bare skin of her chest, now only covered by her bra, and Midori turned sharply away, her face flaming with color.
"W-what?" she began, hastily grabbing her shirt off the counter and pulling it on, struggling to re-button it with one hand.
She bit her lip in concentration, her dark brows knitting above her brown eyes as she secured the buttons, feeling more than slightly perturbed and wondering how long he had been standing there.
"I didn't think you would be coming back," she finally managed as she slid the last button in place and picked up her things, getting ready to carry them to the table.
She turned as she spoke and collided against him with a gasp, not realizing that he had come to stand directly behind her. Midori jumped, startled by his closeness, and felt her breath sputter to a halt in her chest. She remained motionless next to him for a split second, staring at the black clad expanse of his chest before moving abruptly away, going around him to the table.
"Why would you think that?" he questioned idly.
His voice showed little interest as he poked around in her first aid kit, and it made Midori wonder why he had even bothered to ask her.
"Well," Midori began, sucking in her breath as she unwound the binding around her hand and began to cleanse the wound, "what else was I to think when you didn't want to ride back with me?"
Murakumo laughed scornfully at her artless observation and Midori momentarily ceased what she was doing to look over her shoulder at him. He had abandoned his curiosity of the kit and was now leaning against the counter, his arms folded across his chest and his legs crossed over one another. There was a mocking smile twisting his lips and his grey eyes glinted with the same mockery.
"How could you even think that I would wish to ride is such a disgusting human device? It is a symbol of all that I despise, defiling the air and the earth just like you pathetic humans!" he sneered.
Midori didn't say anything, but just gave him a considering look before turning back and finishing her hand. Then she slowly got up, picking up the antiseptic and the gauze and carrying them back over to the counter to put them back in the box. There was a problem though, she thought as she approached the counter. Murakumo was in the way.
Midori slowed her steps, skittishly sidling up to him and shot him a furtive look. He was leaning on the counter in front of the box and she would have to reach around him if she wanted to get it. Trying the indirect approach first, she looked up at him expectantly, attempting to convey her wish that he would move, but he just looked back at her, his eyebrows raised in inquiry, not budging.
Midori sighed deeply, knowing better than to ask him to move and so, as quickly as she could, she reached around him and snagged the box, sliding it along the counter until it was in front of her while Murakumo just watched her, a strange intensity in his gaze.
Midori fingered the box, lost in thought, thinking about his timely arrival at the alley earlier, and then abruptly turned to him.
"I never thanked you for coming to my rescue today…" she began and tried not to feel the sting of his reply.
"If I had let them kill you, then who would treat my mitama?"
Midori looked away then and didn't answer, knowing that there was truth in what he said. But she also couldn't help feeling that that hadn't been the only reason; he just didn't want to admit to her, or maybe even to himself that there was something beyond that reason.
"Why do you hate humans so much?" she asked quietly as she put everything back into the box.
Murakumo snorted as if to say the answer to her question was obvious. "Because you are filthy, selfish creatures," he replied caustically, "with little regard to anything except your own well being and physical comfort."
"You don't really think that we're all like that do you?" Midori asked, her brown eyes searching his unrelenting expression, "You do think that," she murmured incredulously.
"I have never seen anything to prove otherwise," Murakumo replied dismissively, looking away from her to stare straight ahead.
"That's only because you haven't looked," Midori retorted. "Do you think that I dragged you all the way back here from the iwatto because I thought it was fun?" she demanded and she watched his jaw begin to tighten in anger, "you are such an arrogant jerk!" she fumed, "to think that your race is any different from humans! –"
She jumped then when he abruptly turned on her and pushed her back hard up against the counter.
"Enough!" he roared, "I will not tolerate your wayward comments anymore! How dare you compare our superior race to your puny existence!"
"Superior!?" she shouted back, her big, brown eyes sparking with anger. "Since when is being an arrogant, intolerant jerk considered as superior? The only thing you're superior at is showing what an ass you can be!" She railed and then her eyes widened in alarm.
He was doing it again, she thought in panic, crowding closer to her, overwhelming her. With a whimper, she pulled her body inwards, trying to keep from touching him, but it was impossible. He put his hands on the counter next to her, forming a cage around her and she dropped her gaze away from his face, which had taken on that intense expression once more. She stared at the buttons on his shirt, trying to stand perfectly still and catch her breath, which had suddenly hitched inside her chest.
"What's the matter, Midori," he asked in a low, silky voice, "have you nothing else to say? No other insults to throw at me?"
He raised his hand and cupped her face, forcing her to look him in the eyes. Midori gazed warily at him, feeling her body respond against her will to the heat she saw in his grey eyes and the small, sly seductive smirk that was beginning to curve his lips. He began to lean forward and Midori's panic turned into raging alarm. No! she thought, this isn't right! He has a family!
"Stop," she begged, as he closed the distance between them, bringing his lips just inches away from hers.
He hesitated, hovering close to her, and the molten heat of his steel eyes held her mesmerized as they stared into her brown ones. Letting go of her face, he reached down and took her hand. He brought it up and placed it against his chest, letting his hand cover hers to keep her from removing it.
"Do you really want me to stop?" he murmured, his voice a low purr and he let his lips brush against hers.
"Y-yes," Midori whispered brokenly, the heat beginning to rise in her veins.
"Well, then," he mouthed, his warm lips continuing to caress hers as his hand, which still held hers captive, pressed hers against his chest, "push me away, like you did before."
His tongue flicked out and touched her lips and Midori fought to keep her eyes open and her senses about her as her chest began to rise and fall rapidly from his seductive onslaught.
"Aren't you going to push me away?" Murakumo questioned softly, finally breaking the kiss.
Seeing the entranced look on her face, he smiled triumphantly. Finally he let his hand slide away from hers to lightly grip her waist and he bent his head and began to nuzzle against the soft warm skin of her neck. Midori's head fell back, her eyes half-closed and unfocused, and her mouth opened in a silent moan.
"This is your last chance, Midori," Murakumo murmured softly against her ear as he continued to nuzzle her, "push me away, or I'm not going to stop."
He caught her earlobe between his teeth and gently tugged and Midori felt a shiver race up her spine. She made a breathless sound and the hand pressed against his chest, instead of pushing him away, tightened into a fist, clutching at the fabric of his shirt. Murakumo gave a low, sultry laugh.
"I didn't think so," he crowed softly, his eyes bright with want as he stared down at her upturned face.
When Murakumo had returned to find her standing unaware of his presence and only partially dressed, he had given up trying to fight the lust he felt for her. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. A raging animal instinct; not an emotion, he had rationalized and he need not despise himself for something that was only natural for this human body he now possessed. And so, he had decided, he was determined to have her, to satisfy the fires that raged within him by joining his body with hers.
Then perhaps he could rid himself of his fascination with her.
Murakumo's fingers tightened at her waist and he put his other hand around her back, pulling her tightly against him. Leaning forward, he brought his lips to hers in another kiss, but this one was far different than the last. It was fierce, hungry and demanding and it left Midori weak at the knees. With a low moan, she returned his kiss, her lips just as demanding and hungry, unable to satisfy the burning sensations flooding through her.
As their tongues mingled together, Midori felt Murakumo's grip loosen around her waist and his hand began to glide downwards until it was resting against the smoothness of her bare skin below her skirt. Then slowly, he began to trail it upwards, pushing her skirt up along as he went and curving around to the front to gently stroke her, feeling the damp heat of her body even through the fabric of her panties.
She was ready, he thought, his mouth now exploring her jaw and neck, and he didn't want to wait any longer.
Still holding her to him with one hand, he reached down and unbuttoned his pants, freeing himself from his trousers. Then with impatient fingers her reached up and pushed the barrier of Midori's underwear to the side so he could stroke the soft petals of her femininity and he stifled a groan when he realized just how ready she was. Finally he let go of her back, bringing his hand around to hook it beneath her knee and lift her leg upwards, pulling her lower body towards his and opening her to the part of his body that craved entrance to hers.
Quickly positioning himself between her thighs he thrust deeply into her and abruptly stopped, raising his face to look at her when she stiffened and cried out.
"What?" he began, feeling suddenly confused, "- why did you do that?"
Midori opened her eyes and looked at him, her mouth pulled into a grimace, "Because it hurt!"
"Why?" Murakumo wanted to know, his body remaining inside hers, still not understanding.
"Because I was a VIRGIN, you idiot!" she informed him, her face turning bright red.
"A virgin," Murakumo echoed, casting his mind back to when he had taken Hikaru for the first time.
She had cried too, but then she had cried every time they had had sex, and her tears had never seemed to be tears of pain. But, he thought, trying hard to remember that first time, - something that he was finding difficult to do, because he had convinced himself it wasn't worth remembering – their first coupling had been slightly different than the others. And now that he reflected upon it, her reaction had been one of pain as well. But it hadn't seemed to last.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, "I didn't know."
Murakumo's face, for once was reflecting something other than indifference or arrogance; and if Midori didn't know better, she could have sworn it was concern that she saw shadowed within his steel grey eyes.
Feeling suddenly embarrassed and awkward because their bodies were still joined together, Midori looked away from his face, and mumbled back, "How were you to know?"
He hadn't wanted to hurt her, he thought, as he watched her look away and sensed her shy awkwardness, but he wasn't ready to let her go. His hand tightened under her knee and he pulled her even tighter against him, his other hand cradling her against him, pulling her face against his chest. With slow tentative strokes he began to move inside her, his senses attentive to her body, looking for the first signs of discomfort.
After a few strokes Midori stiffened again, a low moan in her throat, and Murakumo stopped once more, his arm tightening around her.
"Does it still hurt?" he wanted to know, struggling to hold himself still inside her.
"N-n-no," Midori moaned against his chest, her eyes closed.
Then suddenly he let go of her and pulled free, breaking the contact between them and Midori, opened her eyes, feeling suddenly hurt and bewildered. Why had he taken her virginity and then stopped? She asked herself. Was it just to humiliate her? But before her brain could formulate a response, she found herself swept up into his arms and carried from the room.
Midori put her hands around his neck and pressed her face against him, his soft raven hair smooth her cheek. Murakumo carried her to her brother's bedroom; the bedroom she had been using while she had been attending him, and stopped in the doorway, staring at the huge bed in the center of the room.
Then he looked down at the top of Midori's head, his lips quirked derisively. "Selfish girl," he chided softly, "what does such a small human need with such a big bed? Such a bed is better suited for the likes of me."
Midori's head whipped up and she looked from him to the bed, knowing he was thinking about the tiny mattress he had been forced to endure for the past week. "I – I'm sorry," she whispered contritely.
Murakumo offered no response as he carried her into the room and gently settled her in the middle of the bed before stepping back to remove his shirt.
Bringing her legs up beneath her, Midori sat on the bed and, with wide eyes, watched him pull the black fabric over his head and toss it to the floor, his grey eyes coming to rest intently upon her face when he was done. Midori held his gaze until he reached for his pants and then she looked away, reaching up, twisting her finger in the short locks of brown hair that brushed against her cheek.
"I re-really am sorry about the bed," Midori babbled, hearing the soft rustle of fabric as Murakumo's pants joined his shirt in a pile on the floor. "I just thought that it would be better for you to be in my room – it gets more sunlight, you see, and –"
But apparently he wasn't interested in her explanations for he climbed onto the bed, his long dark hair trailing like black satin against the paleness of his broad chest as he slid over next to her and he wrapped his hands around her face pulling her towards him to kiss her hungrily, effectively silencing her words.
Midori moaned into his mouth and Murakumo's hands went to her blouse, quickly sliding the buttons free and slipping it off her shoulders, careful not to hurt her wounded arm, and throwing it into the floor on top of his clothes. Her bra followed next and she arched her back as his hands came up to cup her breasts, caressing her until the nipples hardened in response. Pulling her close so that the warmth of her skin brushed against his, he pushed her backwards, laying her against the softness of the mattress, and he let his lips explore her body as he worked his way down to the flat of her stomach and the waistband of her skirt.
Midori writhed beneath the onslaught of his feather soft touch and was hardly aware when he reached beneath her and unzipped her skirt, sliding it down her hips along with her underwear. Murakumo lifted his mouth away from her stomach to throw the rest of her clothes on the growing pile and with a start, Midori opened her eyes, realizing for the first time that she was completely naked.
Midori's brown eyes flew to Murakumo's grey ones. His eyes were sliding over her, and Midori suddenly felt horribly inadequate next to the beauty of his perfectly sculpted body and the symmetry of his handsome face. She wanted to cover her plainness from him, sharply feeling the glaring differences between them. She brought her hands up but before she could cover herself, he captured them within one of his own, his eyes coming back to hers.
"What a beautiful body you have, Midori," he whispered, letting his free hand skim softly up her leg, his brow knitting into a frown as he reached her upper thigh, where his fingers hovered, brushing against her in a circle. "- except for here," he murmured, tracing the smudge-like bruises that the gang leader's fingers had made when he had cruelly gripped her leg.
Murakumo's hand slid away and he leaned down, placing a light kiss where his fingers had been before letting his body slide upwards against hers as he settled himself on top of her.
He brought his hands up and smoothed the short dark tendrils away from her cheeks and murmured, "You should have let me kill them, Midori, for what they did."
They were words of violence and yet, they expressed something beyond that and Midori finally knew that she had been right to doubt the veracity of his earlier words when he had expressed that he had only saved her so she could continue to nurse his mitama.
"What good would come from their slaughter?" she asked, her hand, for the first time coming up to touch his face.
"There need not be a reason to slaughter humans such as those," he replied.
"You're wrong," she murmured, but he didn't want to listen.
Instead he leaned down and kissed her, once again fueling the desire that burned so brightly between them. And then, when he was able to restrain himself no longer, he slowly pushed into her until their bodies were completely joined, thrusting deeply, her body wrapped snugly around him.
Midori's soft moans of pleasure mingled with his own and he began to quicken his strokes, the pleasure spiraling through his body with incredible intensity. As he hovered on the edge of release, he felt Midori's body tighten around him and she cried out, stiffening in his arms. With one last deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt within her sheath, his own hoarse groan mingling with hers as he spilled himself inside her.